Space
by nili-roshan
Summary: Spock and Jim met years before they did at the Academy. Slow building K/S. Spock's POV. Part I complete. Hopefully longer chapters in Part II.
1. I

I'll try so much

While still acclimatizing to the teachings of Surak in my youth I would often find myself frustrated by the fragmented statements my mother would share with my father and I at dinner or some such occasion. When I asked my father if we could speak in private and enquired after the matter he informed me that she was nondescriptly _hinting_ and that she wished for us to pursue the topic.

This supposition made little sense to me, which I duly informed my father. "I do not believe I fully comprehend your meaning."

My father clasped his hands behind his back and turned to observe me.

"I do not claim to fully comprehend it myself as it is an illogical practice; however, I believe your mother wishes for the other party to pursue the subject for any number of reasons: either to acquire their concern and attention, to tease, or because she is afraid of the response she may receive to whatever it is she wishes to convey. It is difficult to discern which until the matter has been dealt with openly."

Though my father had provided a sufficient response, at this time my judgement was impaired by my emotions- predominantly annoyance; I did not approve of mother's deliberately cumbersome behaviour- and as I have disclosed, I was without complete control of my emotional faculties at the time, exploring yet different methods and variations of meditation. It was thus I informed my father with a dismissive, and perhaps impertinent, tone that, "Delaying the inevitable accomplishes nothing," with regards to my mother's avoidant manner.

Twelve years later, at the age of seventeen, emotions still cloud my judgement; I still do not have complete control. I have mastered the art of meditation, but my mixed heritage has provided setbacks in my maturity. I am as of yet uncertain if this has aided me or ailed me in my endeavour to understand my mother. Her behaviour has grown more and more predictable, and often I find myself humouring her or attempting to irritate her in turn.

When she first began hinting about a matter with regard to my grandparents I pointedly ignored her with an intent to irritate. I continued in this manner for a length of time- nearly two months- until her strong suggestions became an annoyance: they became increasingly obvious and manipulative and occurred with greater frequency.

It was at dinner, in the presence of my father no less, that I finally succumbed to one such prodding, finally demanding of her, "Speak your mind."

"Well, Spock," she spared both my father and myself a bright smile, her sense of accomplishment and triumph seemingly intact and unaffected, "I was thinking, you have a break from school coming up, and grandma and grandpa are getting old. Perhaps you should pay them a visit?"

"I do not have a 'break' from the Academy," I replied; I already knew to what she was referring. Vulcan educational institutions do not provide to students undirected _recreational_ periods of time.

"You do. You have four weeks to work on that independent project."

"You contradict yourself. I have four weeks to _work_ on the independent project_._ It is not a 'break,'" I said remaining neutral in my expression, both facial and vocal.

"Well, why can't you work on it there, Spock?"

"I cannot work on the project there because I will not have the resources to do so."

"What will you need?"

"I cannot speculate; I have yet to form a project plan."

"Spock, you're making excuses. Please, do this for me?"

"I cannot, and I regret to inform you that you are being highly illogical."

"He's making excuses, isn't he, Sarek?"

"I have no comment on the matter."

My mother directed at my father an exasperated look and continued, "I know you don't particularly like Earth, and I know you have no interest in your grandparents, but they wish to see you. You have not seen them in years, they're getting old, and you're forgetting the opportunity attached to this trip: you could base your project on Terran technology. Likely no one else at the academy will have the opportunity to work with alien technology; your project will stand out amongst the lot."

"...Her reasoning is sound," my father stated after a thoughtful pause, his brows raised. I turned to him, of course without any indication of my surprise and the sting of his betrayal, but the gesture was enough for my father to avert his gaze.

I pondered over the suggestion for a length of time, my mother waiting for a verdict on the matter.

My reasoning had been debunked, and I was, indeed, aware that I was acting on my emotions, but I have never been comfortable with my parents witnessing such a thing. Still, I do not wish to go; my grandparents know little of the Vulcan way, I will be isolated in a foreign world, and I will be subject to their agitating culture, mainly an irrational one. But I seemed to have little choice in the matter; the only way to demonstrate that my actions were not being dictated by my emotions was to submit to my mother's logic and go; mother was also correct that it isa valuable opportunity to study Terran technology.

"...Her reasoning is sound," I agreed with an accompanying inclination of the head. "I will go."

A/N:

Chapter titles are lyrics from either "Skinny Love"by Bon Iver, "Dusting Down the Stars" by Mobile, "Honey, Let Me Sing You a Song" by Matt Hires, or "A Statue of Sirens" by The Stills, and that the lyric may or may not have inspired the ensuing chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Start Trek, and I make no profit from this; nor do I own or make profit from any of the songs listed above.


	2. I, i

Here is a home and all of your friends

It was late in the evening when I stepped out of my grandparents' car; with me was the large bag that held my personal effects, in the trunk the various equipment I brought to assist in the completion of my project- a study of Terran computer security in contrast to that of Vulcan's and a hybrid security system using key components of both. If I have time to indulge myself I would like to experiment with the construction of a hyper-virus.

Standing upon the front lawn and observing the green house before me, I had to exert an effort not to take on a negative expression. It is as I had expected: old and worn, small by Vulcan standards, and distinctly Terran. I also find the lack of privacy in the front highly distasteful. I thought that, perhaps I truly should not have succumbed to mother's wishes in the end.

"This is home," my grandmother said as she exited the passenger seat. I spared her a sideways glance. I am nearly taller than her, and, undoubtably, I will be taller than her when I reach adulthood (mother continues to tease me that I have grown to my full height, but she is mistaken).

"Indeed."

I heard the driver's door open and close, and turned to see my grandfather, a lumbering man, coming toward me around the car. "Well then, we might as well head inside."

He swung an arm around my shoulder, directing me toward the house, and I stiffened. He did not remove his appendage. I assumed my mother would have spoken with my grandparents about basic Vulcan culture, but that seems not to be the case. I am resolved to speaking to them on the matter if they continue thus. It was against my better judgement- in fact, following my mother's insistance- that I allowed them to embrace me at the transport terminal. I still presented the ta'al in the hopes that they would reciprocate the gesture and desist. Instead, they pointedly ignored my Vulcan greeting and hugged me. I did, unfortunately, receive some emotional transference. This cannot continue, especially in the case that they are unaware of my telepathic, empathic nature.

After a brief tour of the house- one that my grandfather had no part in- grandmother showed me to this room where I will be staying. It is the first room on the left along the hallway, diagonal to the kitchen (strangely, the entirety of the living space is located on the upper floor while downstairs there is only a foyer and a garage). In this room the walls are a light blue and the bedding is appears to be old, faded in colour. As soon as I entered I could tell it has been used for little else but storage; boxes of various items line the room (though not to the point where the majority of the space is unavailable), and it was, initially, filled with a predominately musky smell. Grandmother inquired if the lodgings would do to which I replied in the affirmative: there is a sizeable desk next to the bed and a sufficient number of electrical outlets with which to conduct my work. As soon as my grandmother left, I put my bag down and opened the window. I am of course, opposed to the cold; however, it is midsummer here: this temperature and humidity is not distressing to me.

I lingered in the room for a moment, unsure if I was expected to spend time with my grandparents immediately, or if it was acceptable to start on my research. I also had the intention of sending a message to my parents to confirm my arrival.

My mother did not grow up in this house; she spent the entirety of her childhood in Toronto. When her father- my grandfather- was relocated for work she was already attending university and therefore remained behind. It is obvious to me, even from the very brief tour, that my mother has never lived here: her singular presence is absent in this house.

I then went outside to retrieve my things, set up, relay my message, and begin my project. I was making my way down the driveway when I took notice of a human male of about the same age walking up the driveway adjacent. I evaluated his appearance, and he seemed to sense my scrutiny; he looked up from the ground. His eyes, a strikingly clear blue, widened marginally. Then he smiled, and we passed each other on the drives. I glanced over my shoulder and watched him as he sat down on the front steps of the single story, white house neighbouring my grandparents', then averted my eyes when he looked up at me once more. He was proceeding to open an aluminum can, a beverage- what looked to be a beer (I recognized the packaging from a Terran film I watched with mother sometime ago).

I opened the trunk and carried what I could to the house, my grandmother watching from the upstairs window. I do not know if she was hoping to be covert or not, but she failed to realize that _I_ had seen _her_.

On my second trip to the car I did not resist the urge to look over at the male youth again; he was turning the aluminum can in his hands, watching me, and he grinned when I did so. I kept my expression carefully neutral, but I was already processing this new data, examining the implications of his alcoholic beverage, of which I directly observed him drinking upon my return to the house.

Foremost is that he is discernibly an illogical being or he would not be consuming alcohol, particularly given his age. Second, my grandmother, who had continued to watch intently from the upstairs window, was inclined to do so either because she is fond of him and was watching to ascertain if we found each other agreeable, or she dislikes him and is concerned for my wellbeing should I become involved with him. I could not deny that he appeared to be something of a delinquent, wearing faded jeans and a worn leather jacket; I was therefore inclined to believe the latter.

Of that, I was wrong.


	3. I, ii

Your dreams, your whole life

His name is James Tiberius Kirk; Jim is how my grandparents refer to him.

I was setting down the last of the equipment in my temporary room when I was accosted by my grandmother. I turned to find her in the doorway, a faint smile characterizing her withered lips.

"Got everything?" she asked.

"Affirmative," I replied.

"...So I saw you met Jim," she said and then stopped.

It seems I have found the source of my mother's bad habit. Feeling somewhat amused and somewhat annoyed, I simply raised a brow and waited- a tactic I have often used on mother. Grandmother seemed a little put out when I said or did nothing more. She hesitated, and seemed to reach a resolve.

"Come to the kitchen," she said, "I've replicated some lunch."

As we made our way to the kitchen, the floor creaking beneath our feet, she continued, "Jim's a nice boy. He's had a hard lot in life." She paused, moving to the replicator to retrieve two servings of salad which she set on the table, and then went to the tap to fill two glasses with water. She handed me one of the glasses, and we took seats opposite each other.

"Thank you," I offered. The back door was open to reveal a sizeable porch, sunlight streaming through the trees and illuminating, particularly, the walls of the kitchen which are the same colour as the bedroom I am to have as my own. It is as much an oddity as the rest of the house; there is no proper table (though there is a dining table in the next room- the living room- which surrounds the enclosed kitchen on two sides), rather there is an old-style restaurant booth in the inside corner, two wooden stools used in place of proper chairs on the open side, one of which grandmother was currently seated on. After a quick glance around, taking note of a maple leaf in a garish frame hanging on the wall and a painted map of Nova Scotia, I turned back to grandmother and said, "I fail to see how your speculation concerning this 'Jim' is relevant."

"Well," grandmother fiddled with her fork- also a recognizable gesture, "I thought maybe you could get to know one another, keep each other busy."

"That is unnecessary. I do not require company."

"Nonsense. Anyway, it didn't occur to me until I saw you two together, but I think you would be a good influence on him. He's a little misguided," grandmother opined, proceeding to consume her meal.

"Grandmother, I-"

"Would you quit with the _grandmother, grandfather_ business-" my grandfather asserted as he came into the kitchen- "you sound like a robot!"

"Robert!" grandmother chastized.

"Anyway, Spock, your gra'ma's right. That Jim is a right proper boy. I think he'd have more good influence on you than the other way- get ya' to loosen up a bit."

I raised an eyebrow, opting not to comment on the matter.

"Maybe you could get him interested in that project of yours. He's really very bright; he could help you," grandmother said thoughtfully.

I suppressed a sigh and informed grandmother and grandfather in a forcefully even tone, "I neither need assistance with my work, nor is seeking assistance within the boundaries set by the criteria."

Grandmother huffed, but said no more on the subject. It concerns me somewhat that she did not verbally acknowledge my assertion on the matter. If she is as similar to mother as I have been led to believe, this is by no means the end of the discussion.


	4. I, iii

Stretched to its end

Grandfather mostly remained out of my presence. Grandmother, however, pestered me endlessly today enquiring as to my wellbeing and asking favours of me seemingly at all the crucial points of interest during my work. Most distressing was that I found myself succumbing to her whim without fail. I felt inclined to indulge her, perhaps because I was experiencing some guilt about my infrequent visits; it is only now that it begins to occur to me how little time my grandparents have left despite that I was aware of their age. This illogical tendency to submit, and grandmother's request that I keep her in good company, found me pursuing my research of Terran security networks outside, a portable computer terminal propped uncomfortably in my lap. I sat on the front steps, and grandmother attended to her outdoor chores, mainly weeding and watering the garden. Though I would much rather have done the work inside, I was making sufficient progress that remaining there was acceptable. I was surprisingly unbothered by my grandmother's quiet humming and the chill of a largely overcast day; I decided on a full sleeve black shirt and black pants which assisted in the maintenance of an optimal body temperature.

I was unbothered until our arrangement was disturbed by the appearance of Kirk, who was traversing along the street. He was wearing a thin, salmon coloured half sleeve shirt, and his hands were within in the pockets of his also worn jeans; his brown hair was unruly. I was amenable when he did not alter course and approach, but then grandmother, who had been facing the opposite direction, twisted around and spotted him, as if she had sensed his presence; I was faintly surprised by this as- so far as I am aware- no human possesses psionic abilities.

"Jim!" she cried happily, and she waved him over; Kirk hesitated, looking in the direction he had been facing, and then he walked over to us.

"Come here! Let me introduce you to my grandson, Spock. Spock this is Jim."

We exchanged brief greetings, Kirk informing me that he had heard much about me, and then grandmother asked, "So what have you been up to Jim?" turning back to her garden for the time being.

"Nothing really. I was just over at Steve's place checking out his new machine," Kirk answered. He stood at such an angle that I could not observe him optimally, the sun shining from directly behind him as the clouds cleared temporarily.

"Oh, is that right?" grandmother asked in a manner that was overly enthusiastic. "Spock is doing a school project on computers."

"I am studying Terran security systems," I corrected her. Kirk was watching me, and he nodded, maintaining eye contact.

"With a Vulcan system?"

I glanced at the screen of my computer terminal, dim as it was in the outside light. "I am currently placing orders for several different Terran systems as well as a variety of security software with which to conduct my research."

Kirk replied with apparent humour. "That's gonna cost you a pretty penny."

"Indeed."

"Well! If you'll excuse me boys," grandmother said then, and she stood from her kneeling position. "I'm going to go get washed up." I gave a sharper-than-intended glance towards the garden. The entirety of the unwanted flora had yet to be removed, nor had the flowerbed been watered, and grandmother seemed to feel it acceptable to leave her tools littering the yard. She removed her gloves, dropped them next to a trowel lodged in the dirt, and disappeared around the side of the house, presumably to use the back door. I followed her with my eyes and then turned to look at Kirk; he seemed to be suppressing a smile.

"That was subtle," he said. I believe he was being sarcastic.

"...Are you planning on doing any cracking?" he asked after what I assume was for him an uncomfortable moment of silence.

I raised a brow. "I believe I am what you would call a _hacker_, and though I do possess the skills necessary to _crack_, I will only do so for necessary or practical purposes."

"Huh. So then what're you aiming for, if not the skills to crack Terran technology? Do you have to write a paper about its functionality or something?"

"I will write a paper contrasting Terran and Vulcan security technology." I inclined my head. "However, it will be accompanied by hybrid security software- and perhaps even enhanced hardware- of my own design; my assessment is to be attributed to the development of new technology."

"So you're going to study a dozen different Terran security systems, write a paper, _and_ build a hybrid computer?" Kirk's brows were raised. I nodded, and Kirk's eyebrows abruptly dropped. "How long do you have?"

"Approximately four Terran weeks to complete the project- the duration of my stay."

Kirk raised his brows yet again. "That's it?"

I briefly relayed to Kirk the schedule I have outlined for myself, mainly this: the first one and one-half weeks will be spent conducting research, the next two engineering the hybrid technology, and then the remaining half of the fourth week on the completion of my paper.

"That's one hell of an undertaking," he said and proceeded to list a number of items involved with the security of a computer system: control access, firewall, antivirus, cryptography, coding and data, intrusion-detection, audit trails, and then, "How do you expect to research all of that in all their variations and combinations?"

I tilted my head slightly. "I did not realize you were so knowledgeable with regards to computer science."

"I'm not." He grinned. "Not really."

"To answer your question I'm going to set up the computers in such a way that they are not only susceptible to subversion but tempting to crackers-"

"You mean you're going to set up honeypots," he interrupted.

"You are correct. I would expend too much time if I were to conduct the testing myself. This method will prompt others will exploit the vulnerabilities for me."

"Smart," he said with a small, lopsided smile. "You'll have to let me know how it goes."

I inclined my head, and stood, turning halfway on the spot. From the corner of the upstairs living room window I caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing, and knew my grandmother had been watching us again. Kirk seemed to follow my eyes to the window; he smiled, huffing.

"She means well," he said when I glanced at him. It seemed odd to me that he was defending grandmother to me, but then I considered how close Kirk must be with my grandparents. I gave him another appraising look. I cannot deny that he has a certain undefinable quality about him- a charisma which I believe lies in is his air of confidence and ease- but in any case, it was and is irrelevant. I will not be seeing Kirk in excess. I do not even intend to follow up on the status of my project as I agreed.

"I'll see you around then," he said; I was grateful that he had at least perceived my departure from the front step.

I nodded then, and turned to retreat indoors. As I was replacing the door in its frame, I caught Kirk's eye as he walked across the lawn, looking back over his shoulder at me. He grinned, I arched a brow, and then he laughed.

A/N:

If you don't already know, crackers are malicious computer whizzes who like to break into systems illegally while hackers are non-malicious computer whizzes who mostly like to create programs and do other nice things like that. Honeypots are isolated and monitored systems used to attract crackers for any number of reasons.


	5. I, iv

Dream out loud

I was mistaken about grandfather, it would seem; he is as grandmother is with regards to pestering me. Perhaps he was simply waiting for me to make myself accustom to my surroundings. In any regard, I find I am uncertain if grandfather is aware of my heightened audition; though, even if I were of strictly Terran physiology I still, most likely, would have been able to distinguish his muffled shouts from the garage. I was working on my project when he began to call for me, but I quickly abandoned this and made way to his location. Grandfather was buried in the engine of an antique car, black in colour, pulled halfway in and halfway out of the crowded space of the garage. He did not see or hear me approaching, granted I had entered from the outside as the door of the house that opens directly onto the garage is nearly off its hinges, something which grandmother had made a point of relaying to me during my tour; I did not desire to be responsible for breaking it, as I assumed this was the point of her warning. Kirk was there, his hands were dirty, and there was a smear of oil on his brow, as well as on his battered, half sleeve shirt. He grinned when he saw me, and did not so much as flinch when grandfather shouted again, "SPOCK!"

"I am present, grandfather."

"Oh!" he jumped and hit the hood of the car with a loud bang, and immediately began rubbing the back of his head. Grandfather recovered quickly.

"Jim and I are workin' on Sheila." He gave the car an affectionate pat. "Thought you might give us a hand, was all."

"I assure you, grandfather, I am quite preoccupied with my work at the moment."

"Oh, come on. It's not everyday you visit your grandparents, now is it. Stay and help us out." He waved a replicated tool, gesturing for me to come closer. I was rather doubtful that they were in need of extra assistance, though, and if they were I am not exceptionally familiar with Terran makes of car. It seemed to be a relatively older model, which provided me with even less reference with which to draw upon. I did not say as much, merely suppressed a grimace, and folding my hands behind my back, wearily approached.

"What is it you endeavour to do?" I asked, glancing at the many open manuals on the table along the back wall.

"Get her up and runnin.' This car's been in the family for generations. I decided to fix her up a few years back, and Jim's been helping me with it all summer." I glanced at Kirk who was unceremoniously leaning against the side of the car, arms folded across his chest, again watching me.

"I see." I went to the table and began to flip through some of the manuals (they all spoke of _Pontiacs_, and so I assumed it to be the make of the car; later I would notice the polished letters on the side of the vehicle that would confirm this).

"It's something to do over the break," Kirk said.

"Most Terrans do not attend school during the summer," I observed, glancing at a diagram of an engine on page four-hundred-thirty-seven.

"Not for about two months," he confirmed, "I could've taken supplementary courses, but why the hell would I wanna do that?" His statement- the circumstance itself- was utterly illogical (education is not something to be avoided or neglected); I decided not to comment.

"Amen to that," grandfather chuckled from inside the car. "Jim you wanna replicate me a torque?" Kirk moved from against the car and retrieved a cylindrical piece of technology from the table, pressing a button on the side and rotating the top; a torque wrench appeared, and he handed it to grandfather who muttered his thanks from inside the car. "Anyway it's a damn good thing he didn't take those stupid supplementary courses, or I probably wouldn't a' made half the progress I have restorin' Sheila," grandfather said to me.

"I see," I said once more, and I did. Kirk is the grandson my grandfather truly desires, and most likely the same is true for grandmother; but I am not human, and I will not pretend to be so. I carefully separated this thought to examine further when next I meditate.

"So Spock, do you play any sports or anything like that?" grandfather questioned.

"I take it you mean to ask if I participate in recreational physical activity." I closed the book and turned to face grandfather, clasping my hands behind my back. "I do not."

"Nothing at all?" He looked up at me incredulously. "Then how the hell are you so skinny?"

"Several factors attribute to my current physical state. Vulcan physiology has no predisposition towards accumulating excess fat. The climate is more severe on Vulcan, therefore it is critical that we remain at a certain body mass index as surviving the heat and relatively thinner atmosphere requires much more energy. Vulcan diets are also much more restrictive than the majority of Terran diets; it is stringently nutrient-oriented. Furthermore, while I do not participate in extracurricular or recreational physical activity, that does not mean that I do not participate in physical activity at all; it is part and parcel of all forms of Vulcan education to support the physical development of students- particularly the development of martial arts skills and cardiovascular endurance. Depending on the chosen field of study, that training may or may not increase in intensity."

"Oh," grandfather said after an extended pause. "Jim plays soccer."

I raised my brows.

"Yeah, you could come play sometime if you want- you know- to maintain your current physical state," Jim said. I wondered briefly if he had discerned my grandparent's satisfaction with him and dissatisfaction with me, and I wondered, too, if Kirk's words were intended to be mocking or not.

"You should definitely do that, Spock," grandfather said. "You never know, you might like it."

I hesitated. It would please grandfather if I accepted, and there was also the possibility that it would not, in fact, be a necessary to join Kirk- that is, assuming that the finalization of these plans came at a later date, I would easily be able to excuse myself from them. At length I decided to risk it, "I would not be averse, should the opportunity arise."

"Good." Kirk smiled. "I've got a game at noon, day after tomorrow."


	6. I, v

Open your mind

My perceptions have changed dramatically.

Yesterday I was beginning to comprehend the implications of the cultural differences between me and my grandparents. I was already privy to the knowledge that there _were_ differences, I simply hadn't grasped that those differences would have an affect- have consequences- or rather just what those consequences would be. I reached the conclusion after my encounter in the garage that said consequences had taken form in the shape of Kirk curtailing the relationship I would have or could have had with my grandfather.

_Kirk is the grandson my grandfather truly desires._

Meditating upon this statement, as I had said I would, I found that I harboured some resentment, but upon further perusal I came to realize that this odd resentment existed in association to Kirk. It isn't entirely nonsensical, but I could not help but wonder if my resentment should not be directed at grandfather; after all, was he not the one who bearing unwarranted expectations of me? I am quite positive those expectations existed within him for if they had not, he would have experienced no disappointment, and of his disappointment I came to be certain of over the time between then and now based upon the remainder of our interaction.

I did not meditate again until the following morning- this morning- and it was a light meditation, only meant to centre myself. I continued with my research after that; it was past noon that I decided a break was in order as I was in need of nourishment. Grandmother was at the table- wearing corrective lenses, which I had not realized she needed- knitting, or something similar to it. She looked up and greeted me as I came in. "Spock," she said, with a smile. She seemed subdued by the act of stitching. She was much calmer than she had been the day before, and my appearance did not seem to alter her countenance in this case. I was glad for it as I was not in the ideal mindset to have dealings with her as she would be in a chipper state.

"Grandmother." I inclined my head and went to the replicator. I selected a vegetable soup and then sat down at the table across from my grandmother (it seems this has become my designated seat).

"How's your assignment coming along, dear?"

"Exceptionally well," I told her. The house was otherwise quiet, and the ticking of the clock- it was an old analogue wall clock- was notable, as I ate in relative silence. I enjoyed it; however, towards the end of my meal I began to ruminate upon the ease I was in at that moment comparable to how _uneasy_ I had been the days before. I asked myself _why_ and surmised it had much to do with familiarizing myself with these surroundings, with concluding the preliminaries of my stay (having been assessed as meeting or not meeting expectations), and with Jim Kirk for prompting, at least the latter, to occur in a timely fashion.

Once I began thinking about Kirk, questions began forming in my mind which I longed to pose to grandmother, but I found myself hesitating: starting a discussion as such might spoil the tranquility that had settled over the kitchen and over the house. It seemed my disputation was unnecessary though, as grandmother once again displayed a keen intuition for the goings on around her. "Is something on your mind, Spock?" she asked.

"...Yes," I said, frowning somewhat. I selected one question of many: I asked her to clarify her statement earlier that Kirk has had a _hard lot in life_, that he is _misguided_.

Grandmother smiled a little, she thought for a moment, too, and then she told me quietly, "I don't know much; only what Suzanne- his foster mom- told me, and she doesn't know much either. Jim's only been living next door for six and a half months now. He's been in foster care since he was eight. Jim's family all died. He's been sent from foster home to foster home since then, and that's because he gets into trouble. He's been involved with bad people, with law enforcement, too. He makes bad choices. Not that that makes him a bad _kid_- he's not.

"I feel so terrible about it, but there's nothing I can do besides make him breakfast on Sunday. I would have him over anytime, he's such a sweet thing, but he refuses to take help from anybody. I had to pester him like you wouldn't believe just to get him to agree to breakfast once a week. God knows I worry about that boy," grandmother frowned at the woven yarn in her hands.

"How did his family die?"

"I'm not sure. Jim's dad died when he was a baby. I don't know about his mother and brother." I could easily have grimaced at this time; yet again circumstances had changed. The progress I had made in meditation this morning have had to be disregarded.

I considered the implications of the knowledge that I had just gained while I finished my meal, and then I returned to my room to proceed with more meditation.

I can no longer, in good conscience, resent Kirk for the relationship he has with my grandparents. The decision to harbour no negative (illogical) emotions toward Kirk began me on an interminable train of thought: How will I perceive him now that I know more about him? Will he realize I know what I do? Would he tell me more about his past? Do I wish to know more about his past? When will I next see him?


	7. I, vi

Singing all admissions for me

I value the results that meditation produces- _meditation is necessary_- but, while it is necessary, I am capable of dreading it. It is during mediation that I am forced to confront those constituent parts of self which are illogical, the portions that insist I am not performing admirably. My shortcomings are acidic, hindering not only me, but everyone around me; I will never be Vulcan enough, not human enough; I will always be too emotional, too logical. It is frustrating, but I should not criticize myself for being a half-breed; it is out of my control, and I would not have chosen this if it had been my choice to make.

Dealing with emotions is not easy. The divide between my Vulcan half and my human half is tenacious. I dislike it, and yet it is necessary- necessary like meditation; I cannot process events without acknowledging the dichotomy that exists within myself. I am two very different beings merged into one.

I am singularly unique.

That, however, is of little comfort when I am being ridiculed for my mixed heritage. Indeed, it is often no more than a burden.

Kirk arrived at eleven o'clock. He was dressed in loose black shorts, a white half sleeve shirt, and slim white running shoes, a towel slung around his neck, water bottle in hand. He talked to grandmother in the kitchen while I set up the last of the computers that had been delivered that morning and dressed. I opted to wear loose pants and a black three-quarter sleeve shirt.

I felt inexplicably uncomfortable, Kirk's eyes dragging over me as I walked into the kitchen (I wonder if this was a product of the information I had received the night before, and I was simply apprehensive that he would know I had inquired after him and all that I had learned; or if it was simply an unencumbered reaction, reverting to what it would have been in the absence of my unwarranted resentment). After I had replicated myself a bottle of water, I informed Kirk that I was ready, glad for the distraction. It was eleven half at that time.

"Old man!" Kirk called, and I could not help but shift in surprise at the sudden shout. He grinned at me.

"Ready?" grandfather called from somewhere in the house, presumably the washroom. When I accepted Kirk's proposal that I join him, he had offered to drive us. Grandfather, I had also learned, had been to several of Kirk's games.

"Yep, let's go!" Kirk said; he stood and headed for the stairs, calling over his shoulder to grandmother, "See ya' later, Mrs. Greyson."

"Bye, boys... Have fun," grandmother told me as I turned to follow Kirk. I nodded my acknowledgement.

Grandfather drove us to a playing field approximately ten minutes away. There was a low chain link fence along the perimeter of the field, a large playground and basket ball court off to one side, and stands next to the parking lot. A group of human males, similarly aged to Kirk and myself, were gathered in the middle of the grass field; Kirk led me toward them.

"The team we're playing on is all guys I go to school with and the team we're playing against is a rival school. Nothing official, just for fun, but it is pretty competitive, so try your best."

"Do you doubt my abilities?" I asked, my raised eyebrows betraying some disbelief.

Kirk laughed, "No. It's just- well- you've played before, right?"

"I have not."

"Then?" Kirk asked, "What do you expect me to think?"

"Vulcans learn quickly."

"Is that right?" Kirk asked with a grin.

"It is."

"I trust you, then," Kirk said, and then we were within hearing distance of the group who turned en masse- there was about seventeen young men in total- and they began shouting various greetings, and asking Kirk why he was late (Kirk did not tell them it was I who had caused him to be late). Then he was introducing me.

"This is Spock. He knows the game- you do know the rules, right?" Kirk turned to me abruptly. I raised an eyebrow. "Right. Well, this is Spock. He's playing with us."

I nodded in the general vicinity of Kirk's classmates in greeting, and then the group split into two.

I payed little attention to the preliminaries, staying near the goal posts and the goalie there, but I watched carefully when the game started. Kirk played forward centre, and he seemed to be quite adept at the sport. After a period of observation, I felt I had the ability to join in without impeding the game in anyway, as well as sufficient knowledge about the player's styles to contribute the most to my team. I could see my grandfather watching from the corner of my eye as I jogged into a position where I calculated the ball would travel, and where it, of course, did. I neatly caught it with my feet and changed direction, easily weaving through the players until I felt I had optimum aim of the goal. I could see in the lines of the other goalie's body that he had a good range of the net, and was prepared. Rather than take a chance, I angled my foot, and kicked the ball within centimetres of the corner of the goal post, a position I calculated to be far beyond the reach of the goalie; he lurched in that direction regardless of the futility of it.

After I scored, I found myself greeted by shouts of encouragement from some, and silence from others. Kirk ran over and clasped my shoulder, and I pulled away slightly before I could stop myself. Kirk immediately dropped his hand, but his smile- while it faltered- remained.

"Nice," he offered a sharp nod and jogged off. The game continued in a similar pattern, Kirk calling my name periodically for a pass. It was after I scored several more goals and the cheers on my team became less enthusiastic that I played less of a forward role, instead supporting my teammates and passing as often as possible, though I believe they still found it difficult to contend with me and Kirk.

Approximately one half hour into the game the increasing animosity on the other team seemed to come to a head. I passed the ball to a teammate in perfect position to score, and he did. The opposing team's goalie swore loudly, and then the whole team burst into angry shouts.

"Bloody Vulcan!"

"Get him off the field!"

"Nobody wants you here!"

They yelled, but I was not surprised by this; I had heard such sentiments before. Kirk shouting, "Hey! Shut the fuck up!" is what surprised me. I looked at him and he was glaring wildly at the other team, and in my peripheral our own team was shifting uneasily around us.

"Fuck off, Kirk, this has nothing to do with you," a dark haired boy yelled.

"Suck it, Brett. If you pussies can't handle losing then you should get the fuck off the field."

"Fuck you, Kirk. Why don't you take your fag friend and get the hell out of here before I beat the shit out of both of you!"

"You fuckin' wanna try?!" Kirk yelled, now clearly raging as he walked toward the person who had made the threat. This person, whom I took to be Brett, did not bother responding; he simply pulled his arm back and swung his fist at Kirk. Kirk evaded easily, dropping below the punch, and then pitching his weight forward, he tackled the other boy to the ground.

I could feel my heart rate increase marginally as they rolled about and others began to jog over, some beginning to argue and others attempting to neutralize the fights which were developing, though they made little difference in preventing the situation from escalating.

I was fixated on Kirk and soon was approaching the melee, as well. I grasped his upper arm, pulling him away from the other, his anger conveyed to me. I clamped down on my telepathy, trying to keep Kirk's thoughts from inundating my mind, to refrain from being overwhelmed by his emotions.

"Enough," I said.

"Let me go!" Kirk shouted and tried to pull away, but I held firm.

"No." I glanced down at the other boy. He was clutching his nose; it appeared to be broken. He also had what would become several severe bruises on his face. He was reorienting himself, though, staggering to his feet. I could feel Kirk's indignation on my part coursing through me, a highly irregular sensation. He was furious with his friends, he felt poorly because he knew how my grandparents desired my presence, and he was concerned that I would want to return to Vulcan.

"Spock!" he protested, pulling away from me again.

"It's enough, _Jim_." I utilized his given name successfully as Kirk desisted, giving me a sharp and questioning look.

I perceived, mistakenly, that his incertitude had mollified him, and that he was sufficiently distracted to warrant being release. In the instant I did, he lunged at the other boy who was watching the exchange with a sneer on his face. Indeed, Brett had adequate time to prepare himself, catching Kirk and swinging him so that he stood between us. I could see him preparing to strike and determined it was time that I intervened. I moved behind him, and delivered a pinch to the essential cluster of nerves at the base of his neck, and he collapsed without resistance to the ground, unconscious.

I turned to the others around me. There was a pair fighting close to my right side whom I subdued just as easily, using both my hands simultaneously to pinch to project the necessary energy into their necks, as well. I turned to scan for any others intent on fighting, and found only one was left, and I stepped in front of the one who was an opponent to him.

"You will cease," I said in an even tone.

"Or what?" he taunted. Then he lunged at me. I easily sidestepped him. When he swung at me, I blocked, and then delivered my own blow to his chest, careful not to strike hard enough to injure him in anyway but enough to knock him off balance. He raised his arms in delayed defence, and I knocked them out of the way, delivering him a last, deciding nerve-pinch. It was only after all of this- four people unconscious by my own hand- that I recognized the group was watching me in silence, including Kirk and my grandfather, who was now amongst the crowd.

"I apologize," I said immediately, straightening my posture.

"There's nothing to apologize for!" Kirk exclaimed, holding his hands up in puzzlement.

"That is a matter of opinion," I countered. "I would like to return home now, permitted that you and grandfather have no objections." Grandfather faintly nodded his agreement, and Kirk clenched his jaw.

Addressing the throng still, I said, "They will awaken in two to three hours," indicating those incapacitated. "Please see to it that they return home safely, and that he-" I gestured to Brett, "-receives medical attention for his nose which has been broken."

With that I crossed the field, Kirk and grandfather following me toward the parking lot. The first half of the drive we remained in silence until Kirk swore under his breath, "Xenophobic assholes."

"Kirk-" I started.

"Why are you calling me Kirk now?" Kirk- Jim- cut me off, suddenly narrowing his eyes at me.

"Jim," I remedied. Recalling his anxiety when I had hold of his arm, I said, "I appreciate your concern, but it is not necessary."

"I know it's not _necessary_, you moron!"

I turned to look out of the window, withholding from making a response long for Kirk to rethink his words.

"I'm sorry, Spock," he said almost immediately thereafter. "I didn't mean it."

"I accept your apology and likewise extend one to you for todays events: "I apologize."

"I already told you you have nothing to be sorry for!"

"And I as told you: that is a matter of opinion." I watched absently as our surroundings shifted.

I was attempting to convey to myself the absurdity of having an emotional response to something so petty, and yet, I could not deny the near upheaval I had experienced upon hearing those words; I could not deny my quickened heart rate was, at first, not for the violent response of the group, but over being humiliated in front of both Jim and grandfather. It was, indeed, more humiliating than any prior experience; in fact, I had never gone so far as to inform my parents of these incidents on Vulcan because the intervention of others, I had correctly assumed, would only amplify my distress.

As my thoughts continued in this manner, again I felt a near-nauseous sensation, familiar to me from childhood, for this discriminatory treatment. I enforced logical thought, then (in fear of an emotional outburst), by considering instead that it was, in fact, my mistake to attend the game, my mistake for allowing myself to relent to Jim, and my mistake for allowing a desire to please my grandfather to overpower my logic, and I was now facing the consequences of it. While it is contradictory to previous assessments I have made that I have no control over these occurrences, it has always been more constructive to process self-blame than anger directed at others... I came to the conclusion that this _was _a fair provocation, for this vivd and essential reminder: I cannot deviate from logic- not without substantial risk- therefore I must endeavour to suppress my emotions (of course, I was am aware of this, but it has become apparent that I require reaffirmation of the point, perhaps at recurring intervals). The culmination of this conversion of anger to self-blame and of self-blame to a desire for a more logical constitution is a highly productive outlook, no matter if there exists a true injustice to it. I knew, even in my youth, that others- my parents- would undoubtably disagree with this method, and so it became, and remains, even more imperative that I do not allow others to perceive it.

"Spock?" Kirk's tone was serious. I turned to find him regarding me intently and realized he may very well have deduced my line of thought, vague though it may be. He would most likely think me a coward, or protest righteously, or grow angry, indignant.

I offered him a slight, reassuring smile, a minute incline to one corner of my mouth. Jim's gaze narrowed, and I grew concerned he would not accept this misleading action.

Then he nodded (and I earned yet more culpability).

"I guess the old man and I really were underestimating your ability."

"You can say that again," grandfather finally spoke. He seemed somehow chagrined, though I cannot begin to speculate what about.

"I believe it was the misconception that Vulcans spend the entirety of their time on intellectual pursuits that misled you."

"Or the fact that you're scrawny as hell," Jim replied with his usual grin (I am beginning to wonder if he experiences aching or pain in his facial muscles).

"Vulcans are on average three times stronger than humans," I informed him. His grin faded, but did not disappear.

"Are you kidding?"

"Vulcans do not _kid_," I told him. I caught grandfather's eye then; he was periodically glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

"Spock," he said suddenly, "I'm sorry... for what happened."

I failed to see why apologizing for something he did not do took precedence over apologizing for having acted as if I did not meet his human standards, but then I considered that it had likely not occurred to him that this was my perception. "There is no need to apologize."

"I know, I just- I just- I wanted you to have a good time here. It means a lot to me and your grandma, you know, that you took the time to come visit us. We don't want you to regret coming, is all."

"Concerning yourself is unnecessary; I have no emotional response to the situation."

Jim, who had been scrutinizing his damaged knuckles during the exchange, looked at me abruptly, and I met his eyes. He looked directly into mine and there was an inkling of recognition there, but his face was otherwise void.

Then his gaze drew over my features, were back at my eyes for a fleeting moment, and then gone all together.

I believe Jim sees quite a lot with his inordinate eyes.

Indeed, I could no longer believe that he had accepted my deception; I do no believe it now.


	8. I, vii

Let me sing you a song

The trouble which began on the soccer field did not end there, nor did it end in the car on the drive home.

Grandmother demanded an explanation of what had happened when she saw Kirk's- Jim's- somewhat bruised face. Jim told a simplistic lie about the ball being kicked directly at him, and when that failed to placate her, how he had tripped and _face-planted_ upon an anonymous rock on the grass field; suffice it to say grandmother did not believe this, either. Jim had put no effort whatsoever into being convincing, choosing instead to avoid the question, and blatantly so.

This left grandmother with myself as a source of information, and her interest was most definitely piqued. She waited for to leave Jim, then turned to me and demanded the truth. I provided it to her with no resistance, omitting only a few of the facts; I could have easily refused to provide the information, or I could have lied like Jim, but I was adverse to the idea.

I remain disturbed by how easily lying to grandfather came to me. I only did so to spare him the pain that I would have caused had I been completely honest with him about my disregard concerning this trip to Iowa. Still, no matter the cause, lying is un-Vulcan. It can be supposed then, that in some sense, my methodology is, in fact, leading me astray from Surak rather than encouraging the manifestation of it. There is little more to consider on the subject; I have merely decided that in the future it will be necessary to observe myself more closely.

I told grandmother the truth, and she proceeded to embrace me. When finally I managed to remove her from my person, tears had welled in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she told me.

"There is no need to apologize," I said with some annoyance, contained though it was; repeating myself is of great irritation.

After that, despite grandmother's intention to comfort me further, I walked away; Jim had gone home, grandfather remained in the garage, and I had my own work to see to upon completing a non-compulsory meditative sitting.

Meditation was not as relieving as I expected it would be.


	9. I, viii

A safer place to stand

Today was a day of unadulterated work. The only time I broke away from my rigorous study was to sit down with my grandparents and confer upon that which is considered appropriate and inappropriate behaviour in Vulcan culture. I opened the discussion, "You are aware of Vulcan telepathic capabilities?"

We had assembled in the living room as per my request, myself occupying the lone chair in the room and my grandparents sitting next to each other on one of two couches.

Initially they appeared to be somewhat taken aback, but grandmother seemed to be relatively quick of mind, and she had already taken into account some of the more obscure implications of my prompt before I could continue.

"You mean, you can hear our thoughts if we touch you? When we hugged you?" grandmother held one of grandfather's hands in her own, stroking the back of it with her thumb absentmindedly, his leathery skin conforming to her ministrations.

"It would take direct contact for transference to take place, however you must be made aware that embracing in such a fashion as humans are wont to do is generally considered unacceptable among Vulcans."

There was silence for a time.

"So we can't touch you?" grandmother concluded. Her voice was toneless; however, her body language indicated some dissatisfaction with the situation: her hand tightened around grandfather's and her caressing stopped.

"...I will allow indirect contact; I must stress to you, though, that it is considered indecent to allow the possibility of excess psionic activity, excess meaning most all situations, including, undoubtedly, one such as this. Any form of transference is considered intimate as one's thoughts and feelings are essentially private." I had decided before this discussion took place that I would not comment on the discomfort their unrestrained touches may cause me, and it seemed this was a wise decision in accordance with their reactions thus far.

"I see," grandmother said quietly. There were frowns creasing her and grandfather's faces, but I could not tell if it was due to disappointment or frustration- either way they seemed much too distressed.

"I thank you for your understanding," I said, moving from the chair in one swift movement. As much as I felt a need to placate them further, there truly was nothing left to be said (unless I wished to repeat my sentiments, which I did not), and so I took my leave.

The rest of the evening I intend to continue with my studies. I am making exceptional progress and should- granted things continue in this fashion- have gathered all necessary information twenty-four hours before the time I allotted for this phase of the project is expended.

Tomorrow is the last of the first week of my visit.


	10. I, ix

At the end of all your lines

I was proceeding with my usual morning meditative routine when I was interrupted by an alert at the door of my bedroom. I stood from my sitting position on the ground and moved to answer the call, taking one controlled breath and releasing it in an effort to waylay the affects of disrupted meditation. I had bathed and dressed prior, as usual, and so with nothing more than a slight adjustment to the hem of my shirt I retracted the door.

Jim Kirk was standing there.

After a delay- one in which I raised an eyebrow, and Jim boldly appraised my person, his eyes traveling my length- I asked, "May I help you?"

He seemed to remember himself: he looked up. "Mrs. Greyson asked me to get you. Breakfast is almost ready."

For a brief moment I puzzled over the situation and recalling what grandmother had told me; she had managed to solicit an agreement from Jim that he would take breakfast with her and grandfather on Sundays. It was paradigmatic of her to expect me to also be in attendance, despite the fact that I would likely not be able to consume the foods they would and despite the fact that I was preoccupied at the given moment. I suppressed a sigh and then stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind me as it had been programmed to. I observed Jim take in the room- the computers that lined the walls- before the door shut with the standard depression of air.

"Very well," I said, garnering his attentions once more; I would need to complete my meditation at a later time.

"Your grandma's the best cook," Kirk commented, his eyes far more vibrant than the aqua half sleeve shirt he was dressed in (this coupled with black and white checkered shorts... Jim dresses in the strangest fashion). "I always look forward to Sundays- she makes breakfast for me every Sunday."

I refrained from asking why, if that was indeed the case, he did not dine with grandmother more often considering she had extended the invitation. Rather, I reached my own conclusion that either Jim was being deceptive about enjoying grandmother's cooking, or he had some ulterior motive for not doing so (mainly his pride as grandmother had said he did not take help easily).

"I see."

We walked into the kitchen. It was very much an area pervaded by a grating and discordant mixture of sounds, particularly to hyper-sensitive Vulcan ears. Jim seemed unperturbed, but I could hardly suppress a wince. A blender was pulsating on the counter, various foods were sizzling on the stove, there was the clanging of pots and pans and dishes as grandmother moved about the kitchen, singing loudly as she did so; there was also a PADD blazing in the background, auditory local news reports going unheard.

I sat at the table in the customary seat, as was my wont, and mentally blocked the noise. It very quickly dissipated, however, once we had entered the kitchen. When grandmother noticed us she quickly reached over and silenced the PADD, and her singing, too, ended. She struck up a conversation with Jim then, both of them modulating to be heard over the blender, which in turn was also soon shut off, their voices settling to a more acceptable volume. The sizzling stopped next, and the dishes were brought to the table.

Grandmother called for grandfather, and I quickly replicated a serving of fruit salad and yogurt for myself, and resumed my position at the table with the others.

"You're not having any?" Jim asked gesturing towards the sausages, bacon, and eggs that resided in a pan together.

"No, I am not. Vulcans are vegetarian. I alluded to this earlier."

"You've got no idea what you're missin,'" grandfather said, figuratively shovelling food onto his plate.

"I suppose I do not," I replied. "Though, even if I did know I highly doubt I would miss it. Vulcans do not have dietary preferences. As I said before, our diets are strictly nutrient-oriented." I finally gave the statement verbatim.

"Well, humans don't exactly have the same perfect memories as Vulcans, do they?" grandmother felt compelled to point out.

"No, grandmother, they do not," I said. I opted not to point out that Vulcan memories, while eidetic in nature, are not perfect, and that there have been humans who have had exceptional retentive abilities.

Kirk half-chuckled to my right, and I glanced at him. "I fail to see what is humorous."

"You sound like you just caught a kid rubbing boogers on your book bag."

I frowned imperceptibly. "What would compel someone to do such a thing?"

Jim shrugged, "I don't know. You've never done anything like that before?"

I shook my head.

"You never put gum in a girl's hair? You never put a bag of flaming dog crap on some sucker's door step?"

I gave Jim an slightly incredulous look, my brows raised.

"You mean you never did any of that stuff as a kid?"

"No, I did not." There was little else to say. The distinction between Vulcan and Terran culture was so apparent it seemed unnecessary to comment on the matter.

"Then... what do Vulcan kids do for fun?"

"Fun is a human concept. Vulcans spend the first years of their lives studying the discipline of Surak, mastering the art of meditation, and integrating the precepts which are essential to the Vulcan way of life, mainly logic and rationality, the cornerstones. The focus is then shifted onto the primary education. The disciplines of Surak and the tenets Vulcans are taught as infants to uphold, enable them as children to understand the importance of their education."

Those at the table were staring at me with widened eyes.

"That's ridiculous!" Jim exclaimed, "Children that don't have fun? Then what do they do on weekends, on breaks? Study?"

It occurred to me that it might be best not to answer, as discerning from their response to Vulcan philosophy regarding _fun_, their reaction to Vulcan philosophy regarding periods of rest would be equally dramatic. I could not, however, see a way to curtail replying.

"...Vulcans do not have weekends or breaks, rare holidays excepted. Periods of rest must be requested directly, and with good reason. Our education is much more personalized in this way."

Jim seemed to do a double-take: "W-Wait. What?"

I did not reply, merely waited as he'd requested.

"No weekends?"

"Is that why you never visited us before?" grandmother asked. It was not the reason, it was the excuse. I lifted and dropped a brow; internally, though, I was frowning at the impasse I had been brought to.

"That's horrible!" Jim cried.

"On the contrary. My upbringing has given me the opportunity to harness my intellect to its potential."

"At what cost? You're-"

"Humanity?" I interrupted Jim. "Perhaps you fail to realize, but Vulcans are an altogether different species. Our culture is different. Our evolution, our physiology, our history have seen to that. We are a logical people. If our way of life could be anything other than what it is, do you not believe we would have adapted accordingly?"

Jim had nothing to say. There was silence at the table for a considerable length of time, the four of us eating in silence.

"...So what about now?" Jim asked eventually.

"Clarify your enquiry."

"You still don't take breaks? Still don't have fun?"

I was uncertain how to answer.

"I... do what is logical," I put a piece of fruit into my mouth.

Silence again.

"...I mean, you're the same age as me, right? You don't _do_ anything? What about your friends? You don't- I don't know- drink? Chase skirts?"

"Alcohol does not have the same intoxicating effects on Vulcans," I was rather pleased with my clever employment of a non-sequitur.

"That's nice to know," grandmother said.

"No shit?" Jim asked; he did not wait for a response, not that I had one to give (the struggle with aphorisms, colloquialisms, idioms is ongoing).

"Well, there's got to be something, right?" Jim asked, putting down his fork; he appeared to either be finished- there was very little left on his plate- or he was sufficiently distracted. Either way I did not like his singular attention directed upon my person, especially concerning such a topic.

"There is not," I said in a matter of fact tone, the words coming from even before I had comprehended what they were.

"Bullshit!" A smile was growing on Jim's face. "I'm gonna find out what it is!"

"I fail to comprehend the meaning of the term _skirt chasing_." I attempted to change the subject, now attempting to suppress a blush if the rising temperature of my face was interpretted correctly. Jim, to my surprise, allowed this redirection in conversation.

"Girls. Pursuing potential mates." His grin was fully developed by then (he looked maniacal). I believe he was- quite possibly still is- intent upon harassing me. The topic previous was, in comparison, mildly appropriate, much more suitable than this; it was too late, however, to repair the damage done.

I attempted to control my expression, feeling my lips press together.

Jim began a languid laughter.

I refused to discuss it- bond mates, pon farr, andso forth- particularly with these people who are in essence strangers to me. And I would not- nor will I- be manipulated, maneuvered, or forced into anything. I stood abruptly, nearly empty bowl in hand. "Excuse me, I must resume my studies."

A/N:

Reference to TOS: "Spock, don't tell me you've never...?"


	11. I, x

Let your beauty flow like wine

When I stood, I took notice that grandmother appeared put out; she had stopped eating, as well. Grandfather likewise had a frown upon his face as if realizing for the first that Vulcan customs on these matters are not the same as Terran customs; though, it did not hinder his steady consumption of most of the food at the table. Jim stood as well, and I considered delivering a discouraging expression, but refrained. I then walked across the kitchen and put my plate in the replicator to de-synthesize, Jim rushing to do the same, before I activated it.

"You know, you never did follow up on your project like you promised. I think now would be the perfect opportunity for you to do so," he said, following me despite my intention to remove myself from the kitchen, from the situation, and from his presence.

"I have to disagree," I said smoothly, trying to control my demeanour.

"Why?"

"There is much to be done; distractions will not do."

"I can help."

"You cannot."

"I can, and you know it."

I stopped and turned to him; I was standing on the threshold between my room and the hallway, blocking Jim's progress.

"I promise not to ask anymore inappropriate questions." He looked at me hopefully, with wide, shining eyes.

Logically there was no reason for him not to join me. My aversion to him for the moment was based solely on his teasing nature, of which it was my prerogative to be affected or not by it. In addition, I was hard-pressed to justify, even in premeditation, closing the door upon him as he stood there expectantly. I also knew that attempts to reason with Jim would be met with argument: a poor expenditure of my time. In the end, I stepped aside. He grinned hugely at me, and I was moderately placated about succumbing to his wishes.

He walked into the room, surveyed the area, and then took a seat on the edge of the bed. I stood at the door and waited until I was sure he had completed his appraisal, then I moved to the desk and turned on the main computer terminal used for monitoring the honeypots. They lined the room, some stacked precariously on top of grandmother's boxes, and remained on at any given time. My personal, portable computer terminal remained off, set up next to the main terminal on the desk. I took my seat and glanced at Jim out of the corner of my eye, the screen activating while I covertly scrutinized him; he, in turn, was examining the neatly stacked packaging from the materials I had purchased placed at the foot of the bed.

"There're nine honeypots set up?" he asked, scanning the room again following this and taking count. I half inclined my head to confirm this. "And they've all been subverted?"

"All but one of them has been, two of them only once, the rest several times. Once they have been, I wipe them and install a new combination of security software."

"That's brilliant. To try new combinations, I mean." I raised a brow at the computer screen.

There was a small alert sound then, a warning window appearing on the main terminal, and I swivelled in my chair toward the system which had been infected with a virus. Judging by the false domain I had assigned the terminal- that of a classified Vulcan unit- the cracker was attempting to extract information, though it just as likely a rogue virus. In fact, I was inclined to believe the former on the basis alone that I had installed a reputable antivirus software on this terminal.

It took approximately five minutes for me to bypass the security protocols that were attempting to lock me out and to access the audit trails. Jim had gotten off the bed and was watching over my shoulder (I had abandoned my chair and was crouching on the floor).

"Jesus, Spock," he said. "I can hardly follow whatever the hell it is you're doing right now. That's some crazy shit."

"I am attempting to track the user who has infiltrated this terminal," I provided.

"Why?" Jim asked.

"So that I might know what security the one who makes a hobby of bypassing security has. I have done this several times; the findings are always impressive." Code was loading, scrolling up the screen, and I was half reading the display, half speaking with Jim.

"That's brilliant, Spock. You're really milking these things for every last drop of info you can get, huh?"

"I strive for a degree of thoroughness," I told him. I could see his grin in the reflection of the screen.

"You've got him," he said a moment later. An extended domain was displayed on the screen and I neatly pressed the 'enter' button. The domain disappeared, replaced by a blinking slash in the top left corner. We waited, and were rewarded when information began filling the screen in short bursts, displayed in the same script as had been presented before. I immediately transferred the stream to the main terminal.

"Is that secure?" Jim asked.

I stood and crossed to the main computer, assuming my seat, "The link is the most crucial aspect of this project as all the information is gathered on this terminal; I spent a great deal of time making it relatively impenetrable, at least by Terran systems. It is established and protected by Vulcan technology. And, even if the cracker is still in the system presently, he will not realize what I am doing until his computer begins to shut down."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Jim slurred from behind me, "You're shutting him down?"

"Affirmative," I had already begun the process, decryption complete. I disabled intrusion-detection, bypassed control access, and was running a command for the computer to wipe itself. Jim seemed to follow the proceedings to some extent.

"I fail to see how that's practical _or_ necessary," he said over my shoulder. It only occurred to me in that moment that I had been claiming to operate simply to gather information, and my actions were in all respects, contradictory. I was somewhat surprised that he had confronted me on it and somewhat chagrined. I lifted and dropped one brow.

Jim burst out laughing.

"I wonder if your friends on Vulcan appreciate your dark sense of humour," he said. I stiffened, kept my eyes fixed to the screen. I assume Jim thought he was offending my sensibilities because he said no more.

_I_ said nothing, and Jim said nothing, and we continued in silence for sometime. I was quite suddenly downcast, and I was so in a way that I have not been before. Having company- Jim's company- brought my usual isolation into a state of acuity, as if for the first I was comprehending what it meant to be without companionship. I did not and do not resent Jim for this, but I wished for him to leave: I wished to meditate upon this.

I was not precisely surprised, but somewhat perplexed, and certainly relieved in the next moment.

"Spock, I've gotta go," I turned to Jim, "but do you- I dunno- wanna hang out tomorrow? I could maybe actually help you instead of just watching."

I opened my mouth to decline, but in the moment between Jim's sentiment and my reply, I seemed to have disregarded my default response.

"I will finish testing the Terran technology in another two days; tomorrow I will begin compositing the data. If you wish to participate, you may." I am of the belief that this unexpected, charitable alternative may have had to do with my gratitude for Jim's departure.

I still am wondering what, precisely, compelled him to leave. He cannot know that I am outcast on Vulcan. He could not have known that I wished for privacy, either. Still, it seems unlikely that Jim would have been defeated by my silence- he had not attempted to revive the conversation- so if this was indeed the case, I believe it was rather out of character.

Jim smiled and gave a nod. "Perfect."

Then he left.

I stared at the door after Jim he gone, and considered if he was an esper in disguise. I drew to my mind an image of him, inspecting it, looking for signs that he belonged to an alien species, but there were none.

A/N:

Audit trails, to clarify, log the users that have broken into a system in addition to that user's activities inside of the system.


	12. I, xi

Quietly

The rest of the day I spent alternating between meditation and study.

Mediation is becoming increasingly ineffective (the purposeless thoughts which cloud my mind- mainly of Jim- refuse to dissipate. My emotions are stable- of this I am positive- but my thoughts run rampant. I have no explanation for this. It is as if I am missing some crucial piece of information, and I cannot let the thoughts subdue because I do not know what that some information is yet. I am resigned to the situation presently). Needless to say, my mediative state is much more shallow; I find I am very much aware during the process.

Earlier today I could from my temporary room hear, with the door closed and despite being in a meditative state, my grandmother speaking; I could also hear what I thought to be mother's voice. My eyes came open, I strained my ears, thoroughly distracted. Then I heard Jim's name float between them, and in the next instant I was beside grandmother sitting at the main computer terminal outside the kitchen, chatting with mother who was smiling on the display screen; when she saw me appear beside grandmother she became even more animated. "Spock!" she cried, and grandmother turned to me.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, no. Not at all," grandmother waved a hand dismissively. She stood and then likewise waved me toward the computer. "Have a seat. I was just going to call you."

"Spock, I've missed you," mother told me as I nodded to her. The house was unnaturally quiet behind her; her breathing, even, was audible.

"So, your grandmother tells me you've made friends with the young man next door." My eyes narrowed. I am grateful mother does not know of the scorn I face on Vulcan, as she undoubtably would have informed grandmother, and grandmother in all likelihood would have conveyed the same to Jim. My mother is under the impression that the discrimination ceased after I switched learning facilities at a young age, which it more or less had, but she remains unaware that I have never been accepted by my peers. There are very few who acknowledge or respect me, despite (and indeed, to spite) my numerous noteworthy accomplishments.

"Spock?" mother asked when I said nothing.

"Yes, mother?"

She shook her head. "How are you, then? Are you doing well? Is your project coming along?"

"I am well; though, there has been some difficulties due to the nature of our cultures." I'm quite certain mother comprehended my allusion to her failure to inform my grandparents of my psionic ability- she conspicuously averted her eyes. "My project is progressing acceptably, if not exceedingly well."

"That's good," she said, still looking to the side. I could see home in the background and had a sudden longing for it: the smells, the sounds (mainly silence), the aesthetics of Vulcan architecture and design; but I do not hate it here, either; in fact, part of me enjoys the sociable nature and the culture of Terrans (perhaps my human half)... It is an interestingplace, my mother's home world.

"Is father present?"

"You wish to speak with your father? I'll go get him then," mother said, and she left the screen abruptly. I was deprived of the chance to reply that, no, I did not wish to speak with father; that I merely wished to ask after him. I had little time to contemplate this, though, as she returned together with father not a moment later. He was dressed in professional apparel, fine green robes that bespeak his reputable position; on Vulcan it was early morning at the time, and father would be leaving home soon.

"Father. I wish to inquire after your well being."

"I am well, my son. And you?"

"I am well."

"Is your project advancing on schedule?" his hands slipped behind his back in the traditional Vulcan stance, mother resuming her seat.

"Yes, it is."

I asked after his work, we discussed a few other points of interest, and then father inclined his head and said, "I must leave for the embassy now, Spock."

"Live long and prosper, father." I presented the ta'al. Father did the same, and then mother touched her fingers lightly to his other hand, and he was gone.

"I have some errands to run, so I'll be going, as well, Spock." Mother smiled brightly. "I'll talk to you soon?"

I nodded, presented the ta'al, and then ended the transmission, returning to my room to meditate more.


	13. I, xii

I wondered why

The next morning I woke earlier than usual, at quarter-five. I proceeded with my usual routine, attending to my hygienic needs, dressing, and then meditating. I was finished by half seven, and so I commenced with compositing the data. It was half-ten when I emerged from my room next. Grandmother was in the kitchen, knitting again. I moved to the replicator, greeting her absently and glancing out the window as I did so. The sun was up, partially obscured by the trees outside, and there was dust in the air; there also seemed to be a weak breeze, and I thought it was reminiscent of Vulcan, despite being much cooler for such a time of day. I contemplated this as I sat at the table with tea and toast before me and began eating, but it was an easily exhausted thought.

"Where is grandfather?" I asked after a moment of ennui.

"He's gone to visit Fred, one of his friends."

"I see."

"Mm-Hm. Do you want to do anything today?" grandmother asked.

"_Do anything today_?" I repeated curiously.

"Would you want to maybe sightsee? I could take you around to my favourite spots in Iowa, or we could go shopping, to the movies, or we could go out for dinner later."

"I regret that I have to decline your offer, grandmother. Jim and I agreed to meeting today; though, I know not when. I had, in actuality, expected him by now. It could very well be that he has forgotten our engagement. Still, I think it improper for me to pursue other activities when I am expecting company, as the chance that he will appear exists yet." Somehow speaking aloud that Jim had forgotten our agreement was relieving, as though grandmother could now join me in indignation as I continued to dwell upon the matter in a highly illogical manner (it did not cross my mind at the time that she could also pity me for it, and that is, admittedly, a disconcerting prospect).

She did not, however, feel indignant for me; she appeared to be exceedingly pleased.

"Oh! Jim didn't forget about you, dear! Don't expect him until the afternoon sometime, though." She glanced at the clock. "He's probably still sleeping," she said with a small laugh.

"Sleeping?" I asked. "Do you mean to say he takes naps?" It was nearly eleven.

"No, dear. It's not uncommon for teenagers- humans teenagers, I mean- to sleep until noon. Especially if they stay up as late as I suspect Jim does."

I was puzzled by this, but posed no questions.

Grandmother inquired about my work throughout breakfast, and once I had finished eating I returned to my room. Over two hours passed, and I worked vigorously the entire time; it was an effective means of distraction from the peculiar, uneasy sensation growing steadily in my abdomen. Then came the alert from my door.

"Hey," Jim greeted me and smiled cordially when I answered the call. I blinked in near-surprise.

"What?" he asked, his lips twisting into a sly grin. "Did you think I wasn't coming or something?"

I half shook my head, Jim sidling around me and dropping to the bed. He was wearing an aqua and purple coloured sweater and shorts grey in colour.

"Okay, so do you want me to help you or what?" Jim gestured to the desk.

"I can no longer utilize your assistance. I have very nearly completed compositing the data."

"Oh," Jim said. He pursed his lips. "Does that mean I should leave?"

"Pardon me?"

"I dunno. That's what it sounded like." He shrugged.

"You are welcome to stay if you wish; however, you are obliged to," I explained, "and I have no tasks for you."

"I don't mind just hanging out."

"I see." My eyes wandered around the room in a manner of summation, experiencing some irritation now that I recognized what time had been expended in distress.

"If that is what you wish..." I moved back to my place at the computer.

"How long have you been working on compositing the data that you're almost finished?" Jim asked after a moment.

"Five hours."

"Holy shit! Is working all you do?"

I was unimpressed by this and by his distastefully apparent judgement- perhaps because I expected more worthy conduct from him.

"That is highly illogical. Not only do I partake in mundane Vulcan observances such as sleeping, eating, and meditating, I have several hobbies if you will. Outside of computer science, I play the Vulcan lute and enjoy chess in particular."

"Huh. Wanna play a game once your done?"

How was it that my antagonism seemed to sidle by Jim with such ease? It was as if my pique had not occurred to him; then, I attempted to correct his erroneous perception, and he continued as if I had not spoken.

This instance of misinterpretation differs minutely from others I have experienced recently- when I was addressing grandfather on the subject of Vulcan physiology or when I addressed both my grandparents on Vulcan culture- in these situations my grandparents, instead, had failed to appreciate my efforts to educate them; and, though, Jim was present for the latter, I had failed to notice this dismissive attitude in him at the time. Indeed, I am certain, upon reflection, that Jim understood me in each instant, and he simply chose to disregard certain items such as my displeasure- something which I believe my grandparents missed not by choice.

"Perhaps," I said absently.

I discerned Jim nodding in my peripheral vision. There was no more to be said. The silence developed between us, but it was not uncomfortable. Further, I seemed to finish in an accelerated manner, achieving completion in not thirty minutes, but twenty-five. I saved my work and shut down the main terminal, turning to Jim who was sprawled across the bed as if it were his own.

"I am finished, Jim," I said, turning to him.

"You wanna play a round of chess, then?" He lifted his head and grinned at me.

"That would be agreeable."


	14. I, xiii

We can't return from where we came

I led Jim to the kitchen where we set up the chess board and assumed seats across from one another, grandmother, again, returned to her yard work and grandfather still absent from the household.

The first half of the game was played in relative silence, Jim providing irrelevant and often disjointed commentary: "I'd like to visit Vulcan eventually... How can you like school? I hate it... Sleeping is definitely one of my favourite things to do..." I hummed at each comment to show I was listening, but I was not really- my mind was on the game: Jim took a non-sensical, effective, and altogether surprising approach that admittedly strained me (I am still taken aback by this). Eventually, one of Jim's comments did managed to garner my curiosity, however.

"I ended it with Sydney."

"Do you mean to say you terminated your courtship?" I asked absently. When there was a pause following this, I glanced up.

Jim's grin was greater than usual with addition of some foreign quality I could not place, and I frowned subtly in confusion.

"Something like that," he nodded, "I didn't think we were actually a thing until she called me and asked me if I was breaking up with her."

I frowned. "I believe I see. She was not your- the English term is- _girlfriend_?"

"No." Kirk shook his head, still smiling. "I don't do the girlfriend or boyfriend thing... Hell no," he added as an after thought.

"I see."

"What about you, Spock? Got a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?"

I looked at him sharply and then away; he was intent upon me. "...No," I said after a moment of thought.

"No?" Jim repeated.

"No," I confirmed. Jim gave me a speculative look, but did not push the matter for which I was appreciative.

It was rude, no doubt, for me to remain this withdrawn, but I knew it to be imprudent to make such decisions without extensive meditation on the subject, particularly under such conditions as these, where I had no reference upon which to form a temporary provision; indeed, I had never before considered such a thing as it had never been a relevant circumstance.

He tucked a leg against his chest, rested his chin upon his knee, and gazed at the chessboard; he was losing.

I felt a peculiar, strong need to apologize, but Jim spoke before I could.

"You're good at this." He nodded toward the board. "Really good. Way better than me."

"You are exaggerating."

"You're being modest."

Ten minutes later I called, "Check," and did so several times more before check mate.

"We should play again sometime. I'm determined to beat you at least _once_," Jim said after.

"That would be agreeable- that, is playing again."

"What, you don't find the prospect of me beating you agreeable?" Jim asked.

I raised an eyebrow.

"...In that case I _definitely_ have to beat you," he said. Then, Jim dropped his leg, sitting upright. "I'm going to a party Friday night. Want to come?"

"No."

"Oh, come on!" Jim exclaimed,."It'll be fun! At least _consider_ it."

"I have given it consideration."

"I barely finished asking before you said no!"

"I process information quickly."

"Not that quickly."

"How do you claim to know such a thing?"

Jim gave me a look. "Why?"

"Why will I not accompany you? My project takes precedence."

"It's one night."

"My grandparents would not approve," I was grasping for a convincing rationale, but there were few justifications that seemed remotely viable, and Jim had just debunked one of two of them.

"_Pfft_. On the off chance they don't, I happen to know they go to bed at eight-thirty. We can leave after that."

"Are you suggesting I leave the house without their knowledge and consent?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

"Jim-"

"Okay, that's not what I'm suggesting. I won't ask you to lie to them. I would never do that. I just meant I wouldn't tell on you if you were okay with sneaking out, but if you're not, then whatever. I'm thinking we ask your grandma, and if she says yes- you come, if she says no- then fine."

I exhaled audibly. I do not know why Jim insists on being difficult. Was he not enjoying our game of chess and could we not do that instead?

"As you wish."

Jim grinned, placating me to some degree. His ability to do this has me perturbed. If he were to realize the extent of his influence over me, I wonder what he would say, what he would do, what he would have _me _do. If this relationship I have with Jim is to continue I need to take measures to ensure my immunity to his manipulation, first by establishing the boundaries of our friendship.


	15. I, xiv

As I stood outside all alone

On Jim's way out we approached grandmother in the back garden. She had her back to us, and her head was buried between a pair of floral bushes- in fact, two of many- that sat at the foot of the waist-high fence lining the yard.

"Grandmother," I said by way of announcing ourselves.

"Oh- Oh! Spock, Jim, what is it, dears?"

"Grandmother, Jim has invited me to a party on Friday." My hopes that grandmother would spare me from Jim were demolished when I saw the look adorning her face: she positively beamed.

"How lovely!"

"The party is late at night, grandmother," I said in as foreboding a voice as I could muster without seeming inappropriate. I thought- hoped- perhaps she did not entirely understand the severity of the situation.

It was not so.

"That's okay, dear. I trust you not to get into trouble."

Grandmother's logic is extremely flawed, her knowledge and understanding leaving something to be desired. It is her duty as my temporary guardian to be cautious and responsible on my behalf.

She should not trust me- _I_ often do not trust myself to make wise decisions- and neither of us should trust Jim; though, I can understand where she has been mislead what with his charm (indeed, I am likely the _only_ one alarmed by it).


	16. I, xv

You open your eyes one at a time

The past two days I have not seen or heard from Jim, taking the opportunity to recuperate. Despite the exceptional meditative sittings I have partaken in there is a sense of dread building in me. I gather I am nervous about the house party. I have never attended one before, and I would loathe for it to end in a similar manner to the soccer match.

Thankfully, the majority of my growing unease has been countered by a well-timed improvement in meditation. I know not what this can be attributed to- that is, the fluctuating effectiveness of meditation. I believe it is simply a matter of determintation.

It is disconcerting to know that in times of need meditation can, and most likely _will_, fail me- that those times in which my mind is beyond my control, meditation is not the answer- will power is it would seem. I have always believed it to be the answer, but I must have been mistaken. Or perhaps meditation is only ineffective for me, being half-human.

Indeed, if I continue to grow in this manner I will undoubtably have to conclude that I have not grasped Surak at all. It is as if I am getting consistently further from the simple truth I have strived for, and am instead faced with ideology too complex and convoluted to be useful.

I wonder if it is only me who is struggling with this.


	17. I, xvi

A shimmer right in front of my eyes

Today- twenty-four hours before the projected time of completion- I have finished gathering all pertinent information and organizing it. I predict that the next two stages of my project will proceed in much the same manner, without hinderance.

I have finished wiping the honeypots, securing the main terminal, and clearing my workspace for the next stages of my project.

I will spend the next three days writing the paper. The following week and a half will be spent on the design of the hybrid software. The remaining half week will be used for revising my paper and the presentation of my project and, too, for packing and returning to Vulcan.

I still have not seen or heard from Jim. The party commences tomorrow night.


	18. I, xvii

All this because

Jim arrived at quarter-eight on Friday night, just as grandmother and grandfather were beginning to prepare for bed.

I spent the day , constructing an outline for my paper and in the garage with grandfather. He had requested my assistance at lunch that afternoon, and I agreed to participating in the reparations of the _Pontiac_, though the appeal of such work still eludes me.

Once we had finished in the garage near dinner time, I decided to shower once more, as I was relatively dirty, smears of oil covering me in much the same way they had Jim when he had been assisting grandfather. I took the opportunity to adorn party appropriate clothing. Mother had insisted on purchasing a variety of Terran clothing before my departure, and I am very grateful for that now, though at the time I had insisted it was unnecessary. I selected from my temporary Terran wardrobe a black three quarter sleeve button-up shirt and grey _slacks _as mother had called them.

I went to the kitchen then, where grandfather and grandmother were waiting for me.

Grandmother exclaimed enthusiastically when she saw me, "Spock! You look so handsome!"

"Thank you, grandmother." I inclined my head, and took a seat after replicating a sandwich (I am beginning to miss Vulcan cuisine). Grandmother's had appraised me while I did this, and it was when I began eating she made her comments.

"Were you always that tall?" she asked (a question far beyond illogical- idiotic one might say, but I suppose it was rhetorical). "You look really tall. It must be the pants; they're very slimming."

"Thank you, grandmother," I said again, unsure if I should, in fact, be thanking her.

The rest of dinner was spent in a similar fashion, with idle chatter passing over the table. Grandfather told grandmother about the progress we had made on the automobile earlier, despite that she was clearly uninterested; I suppose it was rather humorous.

After dinner, I returned to my bedroom and meditated for a time, attempting to quell the disquiet which seemed to physically ail me. Then Jim arrived, and grandmother was calling for me.

"Spock!" she called, "Jim's here!"

I stood in one fluid motion and went to the to the front door where grandmother was speaking to Jim.

He was leaning against the wall, and he was wearing a grey shirt and white, low-riding pants with his worn tennis shoes on his feet and wooden beads on his wrist. He was dressed a great deal more casually than myself, and I faltered for a moment.

Then: "Woah, Spock." Jim raised his brows. "You clean up nice."


	19. I, xviii

Tell my love to wreck it all

Jim led me to the end of the street where he told me we were waiting for transportation.

"I have my license, just no damn car to drive," he mumbled.

"I, too, do not own a car," I conferred with him.

He mumbled something under his breath once again, but this time I could not discern it. Before I could produce a new topic of conversation, vehicle headlights appeared at the end of street, temporarily lighting the road in the darkening night.

"Jim!" a voice called from inside the vehicle. The window was open fractionally; had it not been, I surely would not have heard the voice over the music). Through the tinted widows I could distinguish four figures, which was confirmed when the back door was opened. Jim went around me and climbed in, telling me in an aside to, "Come on."

I also entered the vehicle, being careful to avoid any contact with Jim's exposed arm which was difficult; I was pressed against the door as we shared the back seat with two other passengers: one a female- the only female in the vehicle- and the other a boy. In the front the driver and passenger turned around, both smiling. The driver greeted Jim, nodded in my direction, and then turned towards the front again, pulling away from the curb. I recognized him from the soccer game. The other boy remained twisted in his seat, and him I did not recognize, as with the others.

After a quick exchange with boy in the passenger seat Jim introduced me:

"Spock, that's Robbie driving." Robbie waved a hand nonchalantly.

"Hayden in the passenger seat." Hayden grinned, tossing his head so his blonde, shaggy hair was removed from his line of sight (a most impractical hair style).

"Amy-" he gestured to her.

"Hey," she said and smiled at me.

"-And Andy." He pointed his thumb at the boy on the opposite end of the back seat. Andy, who'd been fishing in the pocket of his jeans, stopped and waved at me. I inclined my head in his direction.

"So how much longer are you here for, Spock?" Robbie inquired from the front seat, very nearly shouting to be heard over the music. He reached for the dial and lowered the volume so that I did not have to shout a response in turn.

"Two Terran weeks."

"Do you like it here?" Amy asked.

"I neither like, nor dislike it here."

"You speak so formally," Hayden opined from the front seat, grinning; presumably he found my manner of speech amusing.

"Indeed?" I asked dryly.

"No shit, Hayden, he's Vulcan!" Andy chastised. I attempted to define the idiom _no shit_ via its contextual use as I was disinclined to request clarification.

"Do all Vulcans talk like that?" Hayden continued, unfazed.

"Yes, I believe all Vulcans are inclined to use formal English as there is no informal mode of any Vulcan language," I supplied.

"Holy shit. That's so weird."

I raised a brow, turning to observe our surroundings through the window.

"What do your parents do for a living?" Robbie spoke now.

"My father, Sarek, is an ambassador among other things."

The group seemed highly interested in me, but I cannot say I revelled in the attention. I was, at this juncture, beginning to feel I had been correct in my initial evaluation that I would find the excursion distasteful. However, I had hopes that I would be incorrect about this, as I freely admit I am often wrong in my (initial) assessments, particularly with regard to those subject concerning my own opinions which I have long since attributed to half-human overemotionality.

"And you? Are you going to follow in your father's footsteps and become a politician?"

"I will most likely be attending the Vulcan Science Academy."

"Science? Any field in particular?"

"Computer science."

"That's what Spock's doing here," Jim said from beside me. "He's researching Terran computer technology."

"Really? Cool," Amy said.

"Indeed."

Jim grinned at me.

"I've never left Earth before," Hayden said after a pause.

"I haven't either," Amy said.

"I have," Andy said, "on vacation."

"I've been off planet a couple of times," Robbie said.

I waited for Jim to contribute, but he said nothing. Likewise, when I looked to him he did not meet my eyes. Such unresponsiveness is- if it is not presumptuous of me- irregular behaviour for Jim... I speculate on the presumptuousness of that statement because I do not believe I know Jim as I may be inclined to believe. I do not know his history, his opinions, or his personality; however, I believe what I have seen of his character has been honest, and this is where the misconception would reside, if, indeed, there was to be one.

Next the car was stopped, and the others removed themselves from the vehicle. I followed suit, Jim coming behind me.

The music in the car had died only to reveal yet more loud music playing at a distance.

"Let's go then," Andy said from the other side of the vehicle. We progressed approximately one eighth of a kilometre to the foot of a driveway, a well lit, large and modern home located at the top of it. There were several cars in the driveway, and more lining the road. People of a similar age could be seen in groups or individually approaching the house or milling about the front, but the majority of people, I could easily discern, were inside.

Robbie opened the front door of his own prerogative when we reached it (which I briefly considered the inappropriateness of). The music became noticeably louder thereafter, and it was punctuated by the shouts and laughter of Terran youths. I glanced with concern at Jim, but he was in animated conversation with Robbie.

In this moment I came to realize the magnitude of my mistake because it had become pertinent and extremely obvious: Jim had either forgotten or never understood that I am Vulcan, that who I am is precisely contradictory to who he is.

Still, I did not feel anger toward him; in following with the concept I introduced several entries before, the fault was my own for allowing myself be persuaded to attend. However, interestingly, I neither felt angry with _myself,_ as perhaps I expected to. This may be in light of acquiring ever valuable experience, but I considered that this aside, it was uncomfortable- uncomfortable such that should this knowledge have been made available to me prior, I would undoubtedly have remained steadfast in my refusal.

I would have returned home then, if by own volition, but I did not know the route, and to ask Jim or Robbie to do this directly after arriving would certainly have been regarded as rude.

My anxiety only grew as we continued inside, and I was confronted by the chaos. Such things as the pounding of the music, the excess movement of individuals as they moved carelessly to and fro, and the potent scent of alcohol assaulting my olfactory sense served to increase my heart rate. In addition, the inconspicuous glance I had given the room was not met with the same subtlety by others; I was openly appraised. They curiously, approvingly, some hostilely stared, and this scrutiny drove me to search the masses for at least one other non-Terran, but I could find none.

There was more to distinguish me than the green tint of my skin: the clothing I wore which was too formal, my height, my build, and my manner of navigation which was calculated and precise in comparison.

"Spock," Jim grabbed my arm at the crook of my elbow, around the sleeve of my shirt. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," I replied. He gave me a concerned look but dropped my arm and then nodded. He pointed in the vicinity that he and the others seemed to be making their way to, and I nodded in return acknowledgement before we began making our way through the fray. It was not long before we were separated.

I found myself in a pocket of space near the wall; the others were at the back of the room. They had easily forced their way through the crowd, but I had been struggling to avoid inappropriate contact, so, while I had lost Jim, in this pocket of space I began to relax until a human female emerged from the crowd before me.

"Hey," she greeted, smiling widely. In her hands was what I presumed to be an alcoholic beverage. She was brunette, and she was a great deal shorter than me.

"You're Vulcan," she observed. I inclined my head in agreement.

"'Got a name?" she asked.

"It is Spock."

"Just Spock?" She smiled. "I'm Valerie."

I inclined my head once more.

"You look miserable."

At this I frowned slightly.

"I have been separated from Jim. I need to move to the back of the room."

"Why don't you go then?" Valerie asked, taking a swig from the plastic cup.

"I am unaccustomed to forcing my way through crowds," I explained. I deemed it nonessential to provide that I was avoiding receiving emotional transference; Valerie- or, indeed, anyone- would have just cause to persecute me for my misconduct should they come to know this detail, which would be an additional and unnecessary stressor I thought prudent to avoid at the time.

"Hm, okay then. I'll help you get there." Valerie held out her hand as if to take mine in her own. I moved them away from her involuntarily, however, and she settled for grasping my upper arm. Then she turned and pulled me forward, into a wake she created in the crowd as she pushed her peers unmercifully out of the way.

At the back of the room was a large window that over looked a small yard, then a cliff, and the city at the foot of it- a vista I would have halted to admire if not for pressing need of space. I continued my inspection, scanning the area for Jim. There were arches on both the left and right. Through the left was what appeared to be a kitchen with as many people located there. I could not see past those gathered at the back of the room, however, to discern the contents of the room on the righthand side.

"Do you see him?" Valerie called, also scanning the room despite that she was not privy to the search parameters and too short to see any distance (I had an unforeseen advantage in this respect).

"I do not," I replied, glancing down at her.

"Okay, come on then." Valerie pulled me toward the room on the right, this time veritably bulldozing through those who stood in the way (I speculated that she had run short of patience), and suddenly I found myself in a large open area. The back wall and the wall across from us were made of solid windows and the ceilings were also high. There was no furniture in the room with the exception of a small black couch and an empty bar. Also, there were few people in the room, and none looked up when we entered, likely to do with the fact that there were no lighting here; instead, the city lights shone in the distance.

I immediately felt relieved, Valerie leading me to the window sill where we sat. I took the opportunity to appraise the view of the city below us then; it was exceptional, and it occurred to me that the owners of the property must be quite wealthy.

"You appear to know the layout of this house," I observed after a moment. Valerie smiled.

"This is my cousin's house, and it's her party. We're the same age."

"I see. And what is this room used for?" I asked, uncertain of its designation.

"It's a studio, I guess. Used to be an exercise room, then an entertainment room. I don't know exactly." She tapped her foot on the maple wood floor.

"So who's this Jim you're looking for?"

"Jim is my grandparents' neighbour."

"And your friend?" Valerie leaned back against the window.

"Yes, I suppose that may be the case." I had not considered the matter before. How easily does he give his friendship, I wondered.

Valerie made several inquires about Vulcan, and my opinion of Earth; she told me about herself, too, and we spoke for a considerable amount of time. Three females approached us during our exchange, but when Valerie and I gave them our attention, they merely stood, fidgeting.

"Just ask him!" one girl soon exclaimed.

"Um, do you want to dance?" another asked, her friend sighing loudly.

"I am preoccupied at the moment," I replied; though, the outcome would have been no different had this not been the case; this younger human female seemed to be suffering from nervous anxiety, and I did not wish to cause her further distress. The girl let out a squeak of sorts and then proceeded to turn on the spot and make haste for the door, pulling her two friends with her.

I felt the tension of a would-be frown upon brow as I turned back to Valerie, and told her, "I am unable to fathom such unrestrained and impulsive romantic interest. It is illogical."

"They like you," Valerie rejoined instantly; though, in reality this was not an explanation nor a counterargument.

"It is inappropriate: they do not know my name, my house, my academic standing-"

"They're _attracted_ to you, Spock. Physically attracted. You're exotic and not bad looking by human standards, you know."

"If what you say is true, then far too much import is being placed on aesthetic qualities."

"Right again."

I required a moment to ponder this sentiment; instead I came to recognize that throughout our conversation Valerie had allowed for this time: time to assimilate new knowledge even as we conversed. I considered, too, that this may be the root of our agreeable discussion. I also wondered if she did not have romantic interests in me and if that was not why she had approached me and subsequently helped me; it was a disappointing prospect, for I would be inclined to reject her. Before I could progress any further with these concepts, however, I was interrupted.

"Spock!"

I turned in place to find Jim approaching us, and, surmising from his gait that he was- at a minimum- moderately inebriated, I braced myself to receive him in a however unsound state.

"Where've you been! I looked everywhere for you."

I raised a brow.

"That's not an answer, Spock."

"I have been here, with Valerie."

Jim's eyes narrowed and darted between Valerie and myself.

"Doing what?"

"Conversing," I replied simply. Jim seemed increasingly displeased.

His eyes narrowed further before he asked, "About what?"

I lifted and dropped a brow with measure (an action I am coming to understand is the equivalent of a human crudely shrugging).

"We were just talking about Earth and Vulcan and stuff like that," Valerie supplied.

Jim had a petulant frown on his face then.

"Look, Spock's going back to Vulcan in another two weeks. Nothing's gonna happen between you two," he said. I felt both my brows raise, and I glanced at Valerie to see her eyes widen.

"That's not what this is at all! We were just talking."

"Yeah, then why are you getting so defensive?"

Valerie blinked, and then her facial expression contorted. "Why are you acting so jealous?"

"I'm not acting jealous."

"If not jealous then territorial."

"I'm telling you to back off for your own good!" Jim near snarled.

"Tell the girls who've actually been hitting on him to back off!"

I then stood rather abruptly, and succeeded in diverting their attention.

"Are you prepared to depart?" I posed, clasping my hands behind my back.

Jim grumbled what I interpreted to be an affirmation.

Turning once more to Valerie where she remained seated, I told her, "Thank you for your invaluable assistance earlier this evening and for your correspondence with me which has been most invigorating."

"It's no problem, Spock. Um, maybe I'll see you around again?"

"Perhaps." I did not bother to speculate on the unlikelihood of such a thing occurring. Instead, I considered Jim, swaying on his feet in my periphery, and my instinct to reach out and steady him.

Rather, I inclined my head to Valerie, and thus concluded the evening.

I led Jim from the room, using him as a shield of sorts as we pushed through the somewhat dwindling crowd until we were standing outside, leaving behind the reverberating music and mayhem.

"Jim, are we returning home on foot?"

He nodded, and I considered that he had not stopped frowning yet.

"Are you able to provide direction?" I glanced at him as we proceeded.

He nodded again.

"...Will you inform me how I have upset you?"

"How?" he looked up at me, mouth agape. "You ditched me to flirt with Valerie!"

"I did not; we were separated, and when I failed to locate you I resigned myself to the situation. If I am not mistaken, you did much the same." After all, we had been separated for a considerable length of time. I wondered briefly what had kept Jim that he had not sought me out sooner. The thought surely had occurred to him that I would be socializing as such. In all likelihood it was Valerie in particular that he disapproved of, except that he had not known her prior to confronting us, I am certain. At this juncture, I resigned myself, once more, to the situation; I could not speculate on what had kept Jim.

However, it was unnecessary for me to do so, for in the next instant he provided me with an answer to this.

"Yeah, I'm trying to help Andy with a bad trip, meanwhile you're practically making out with Valerie." At the time, I disregarded my lack of comprehension, but I now understand a _bad trip _refers to an unintended negative experience under the influence of narcotics.

"I will not argue with you regarding Valerie, Jim. You are behaving petulantly without purpose."

"You sound like Frank," he said, tremendous bitterness in his tone.

I did not know what to say to this; I did not know this Frank and at that point I was disinclined to inquire after the matter.

"...And," Jim continued momentarily, "why the hell're you calling her Valerie? Isn't that a bit informal for you?"

I suppressed a sigh. "It was the only name provided to me."

Jim huffed loudly.


	20. I, xix

We fall apart

The rest of the walk Jim remained silent, as did I. It took all of twenty minutes to return, and the entirety of this time I spent contemplating him, his justification for being as angry with me, and what I might do- if anything- to amend the situation; though, despite my contemplation I came to no greater understanding. This unassailable confusion, I believe, served to significantly deepen the tension between us: when we arrived home Jim started up the driveway without a departing word.

"Jim," I called. He stopped and turned to me.

"What?"

"I apologize." I did not indicate what this was in regards to, because I did not know.

Jim's visage was inscrutable; it changed several times very quickly, and I could not discern the meaning behind any of these expressions. Then he nodded once more and continued up the drive as he had been.

Next, I was obliged to concede that I required more information; without it I could not hope to understand him. I went inside following this, also. I took a third shower, adorned my nightwear, and skipped meditation.


	21. I, xx

And all this becomes

I did not meditate last night.

With the rationality that the morning offered, I concluded the finest course of action was to skip my usual hygienic routine and proceed immediately with meditation before unwanted thoughts and emotion began to populate my mind once more. I removed my covers, lowered myself to the floor, and meditated for the majority of the morning. I had not expected such a prolonged and satisfying sitting.

Once I had emerged from meditation I went to the washroom and took a expeditious shower, simply for refreshment purposes and completed my other morning ablutions before returning to my room and dressing. When I arrived in the kitchen, grandmother and grandfather were sitting down to lunch, and I joined them.

They inquired after the party, if I had enjoyed it and when I had returned home; I assured them the party was interesting and informed them of the time I arrived.

"No wonder you slept 'til noon," grandmother said. "Can you see how Jim does it, now?"

"On the contrary, grandmother. I awoke at the usual hour; I have been meditating since half five in the morning."

Grandmother and grandfather both looked up. I disregarded them, continued eating, and after an extended pause they did, as well.

After breakfast I returned to my room and proceeded to write my paper. I finished at half-seven this evening.

It was an exceedingly productive day, and it has been very nearly enough to improve my mood after the incidences of yesterday.


	22. I, xxi

I'm bringing up the past to put it all to rest

Yesterday's productivity was nearly enough to improve my mood concerning the _supposed_ distance that had formed between me and Jim.

Today is Sunday. I awoke, completed my morning routine, took the opportunity to revise my paper, and then partook in breakfast with my grandparents and Jim; he arrived here at half ten- earlier than expected.

Jim acted as if naught had happened, as if he had not walked away without any acknowledgment of my apology two nights before. I was taken aback when I entered the kitchen, and he greeted me enthusiastically, "Hey, Spock."

"...Jim," I inclined my head after a moment of bewilderment in which he smiled unrelentingly at me. Throughout breakfast he made no references to the party, but neither did he remain silent. Jim asked after my project and my plans for the day, he congratulated me on the completion of my paper, and raised his brows when I told him grandmother and I were to go sight-seeing shortly.

"Anywhere in particular?" he asked, lifting another forkful of breakfast food to his mouth. Jim and I were still eating, while grandfather had left the kitchen, and grandmother was tidying the counters and tabletop.

"To the Museum of Anthropology for sure," grandmother replied, "and it depends on how much time we have left after that. I was thinking we could go see the world's largest strawberry, but Spock said he had no interest in that."

Jim laughed. "Of course he doesn't."

I raised a single brow. "What do you mean imply?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, ducking his head.

"Do you want to come along, dear?" grandmother asked him.

"I can't. Got stuff to do."

"Too bad," grandmother said over her shoulder.

I surreptitiously glanced at Jim, but I could not determine from his expression whether he was being honest or not during our conversation. The moment was passed.


	23. I, xxii

Leave me outside

I enjoyed the museum; there were several exhibits that proved to be highly thought provoking. I also found the landscape in numerous areas we visited to be aesthetically pleasing.

I failed to find any merit in the World's Largest Strawberry. What more is there to say? It was a farce.

Grandmother insisted she have a photograph of me standing in front of it, and I regretted bringing a camera in that instant; I had only done so in lieu mother's request for pictures.


	24. I, xxiii

A dim reflection

Both Monday and Tuesday Jim did not visit. I found myself wondering if Sunday was not a deception, and if Jim truly had been angry and distanced himself. I was reluctant to think about it for fear of the conclusion I believed I would inevitably reach. I then reminded myself that denying the inevitable accomplishes nothing, something my younger self seemed to grasp more readily.

These thoughts I have only received during meditation as otherwise I am focused totally on my project. I am in the final stages of its completion and perhaps the most important stage. I have disassembled the computers used as honeypots, their parts littering my room in organized, categorized piles for use in the construction of my project. The main terminal and my personal computer have been moved to the floor, as well, the computer desk now doubling as an engineering station; schematics, my soldering iron, and various other tools populate its surface. I have begun- what is to me- the routine process of constructing a computer.

Though I am versed in the matters of, not only software design, but software and hardware integration, this stage of the project has required a more exertion than I had anticipated. I believe the difficulties I have been experiencing are caused by my unfamiliarity with Terran systems, my hampered state of mind, and, in particular, the environment in which I am conducting this work.

When grandmother entered my room Monday night, she did not do so without first stilling in the doorway with her mouth ajar.

"Spock, this is a bloody mess," she said.

I did not deny it. My equipment combined with grandmother's objects in storage make for a very small, very cluttered area. Grandmother commented that it looks how she imagined Terran garbage dumps did one or two centuries ago. I assured her that all would be as it was before I depart.


	25. I, xxiv

A statue of sirens sinks at high tide

After three days of continuous work with no disruption on Jim's part, whom I had not seen in this time, I had achieved a remarkable sense of calm. I entered the kitchen on the third night for a glass of water before sleeping, resigned to the fact that I would have no further interactions with him. Had I not been in this mode of practised acceptance, I do not believe I would have handled the situation that arose with as much poise as I did.

I stood at the counter, preparing a cup of grandmother's organic tea (it is an exceptional brew) when movement in my peripheral caused me to look up- and lay eyes upon Jim. His hands were cupped around his face which was pressed to the glass, and he was looking directly at me. I felt my adrenaline and my heart rate spike in the instant it took for me to recognize him. I gripped my mug tightly and raised a brow.

"Spock." His voice was muffled, and I had cause to interpret the movement of his lips. "Come out."

I allowed myself a moment to contemplate the increasing questionability of Jim's behaviour, in which I simply stared at him; he did not waver as I correctly assumed he would not.

I set my glass down and walked to the door at the end of the counter, opened it, and stepped out onto the deck.

"Jim?"

He moved toward me in the darkness.

"I just wanted to say hey." When he spoke I could detect the scent alcohol.

"You are inebriated."

"Yeah."

There was silence.

"Have you communicated all that you desired to? If so, I will return to my previous activities."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I'm not done."

"Indeed?" I interjected a measure of skepticism into my tone.

A sly grin stretched over Jim's face whilst his eyes took a predatory angle; it was- and remains to be- an exceptionally worrisome expression.

"I have something for you."

"I do not want it," I said.

Jim's smile became more genuine- as if on the verge of laughter- but then it returned to its original deviousness; he turned from me and stepped to the window, where, I now took notice, there was a grocery bag on the ground. I considered making a hasty retreat inside, even locking the door; however, this would be the height of emotional action, and my sensibilities require that I do not act on emotional responses. Still, my alarm only increased: Jim was likely to compromise me if I remained.

He walked back over, his face oddly somber, one hand on either strap of the bag and pulling it open. Then he reached in and withdrew from it a chocolate bar, putting it toward me in slow movements. I felt myself move as far away from it as possible without lifting my feet. Jim, upon seeing this, grinned again.

"I will do not want it," I said with a reasoning voice.

"Oh, come on, Spock! This is exactly what I meant before. You don't like giant strawberries and you don't like alcoholic chocolate. Where the fuck's your sense of fun?"

"I do not require a sense of fun; I am Vulcan."

"Oh, don't give me that crap, Spock." He began to slowly unwrap the candy bar. "Look, it's simple. All you've got to do is put the chocolate in your mouth, chew- no, you don't even have to chew if you don't want to: just let it melt- and then swallow."

I appreciated the irony that while I was retreating from Jim as if he were about to attack me, he was approaching me as if I were a rabid animal quite ready to snap at any given moment. Indeed, there seemed to be some confusion regarding which of us was in the most appreciable danger.

"No, Jim," I said, firmly now.

"Spock!" chastised.

"Jim." I matched his tone.

"Eat it!"

"I will not."


	26. I, xxv

All leaving from me now

Jim lunged at me, with only the candy bar for protection. I was tense and Jim was fast that when I knocked him away there was rather too much power in the strike; he was thrown into the railing on my right and then- I believe with at least some of his own volition- he slid down until he laid flat upon his back.

"Jim." I moved with haste to crouch by his side. "Are you injured? I did not mean-"

"Spock," he croaked in an overdramatic manner, his eyes hooded. "...Spock."

"Jim, you appear to be uninjured."

"I'm not going to forgive you unless you eat the chocolate."

"Jim-"

"What's the big deal, Spock?" He remained where he was, laying on the porch; his voice, though, became clear again, and his eyes abruptly returned to their full alertness. "It's only one night."

"Nevertheless-"

I was mid-sentence and thoroughly caught of guard: Jim thrust the chocolate into my mouth. The prior heat from his hand and the relative temperature of my oral cavity resulted in it melting the moment it entered me, and the taste was startling, which is perhaps why I was inclined to experience more of this flavour and why I did not immediately remove it from my mouth.


	27. I, xxvi

In the palm of your hand

It was decadent and rich, and I thought briefly that I could easily consume chocolate in small quantities every day following this, that it may even be worth the negative symptoms. I then reminded myself that chocolate has addictive properties, and such thoughts and actions would not be brooked. Even so, my hand came up and took the chocolate from Jim's which was still centimetres from my lips- a discomfiting realization. I lowered one knee to the deck as I did this, ensuring that my position was stable, for I knew compromised balance was one consequence among many which I was now slated to endure.

I had ingested chocolate only twice in my life prior, and it did not prepare me for this experience.

The first time I was five years of age. I had been offered a white chocolate chip cookie from a tray by a Terran female- the wife of one of my father's associates- at a dinner party on Earth. I had phrased my inquiry regarding the contents of the cookie poorly: "Am I correct that this cookie has nuts in it?" to which she replied in the affirmative. After consuming it I thoroughly embarrassed father, and he was forced to return us to our suite.

The second time mother was indulging in a bar of dark chocolate; she offered me a piece simply to satisfy my curiosity, which had been obvious, as I was watching her eat.

Both times I had experienced inhibition, a sense of vigour, and inflated enthusiasm. On the first occasion, I was too young for the taste and affect to have meaning; and the second, I did not take to the bitter taste of the purer variety which is mother's preference.

This was not dark chocolate, however, and the taste was far superior. I ate the entire bar, relishing every square, and though it was only a moment later that I had finished it, I believe I was very quickly developing an indulgent attitude;I did not notice this at the time, but as mother often says, _hindsight affords twenty-ten vision _(modified to include the highest possible visual acuity of humans, as I had argued with her upon hearing this adage that _hindsight is twenty-twenty_ is a blundering sentiment).

That which I identify with- my logical faculties- were accordingly depressed, my emotional ego, then, went unhindered. This sense of retreating conscious I did not expect to appreciate; however, it provided fascinating perspective, akin to watching my dealings from a distance. Correspondingly, I craved chocolate more intensely and the consequences of such a dubious desire were diminished.

_It is detrimental, _I reminded myself.

_In large and prolonged doses, but I will ensure that this does not occur again after tonight's event._

Presently the only disagreeable emotion I could detect within me was regret that the chocolate bar had been devoured so swiftly- this and an ill-defined concern that it was the _only_ dissension I could conceive of. Indeed, there was nothing else in my present opinion that supported the prohibition of chocolate, and, try as I did to comprehend the interdiction, I could not. This lead me to query why such a satiating substance need be compromising, addictive, and therefore prohibited; of course, the answer was inherent in the thought which I was not beyond recognizing once I had put words to it (it is addictive _because_ it is _satiating_-satiating being the precise word I used in my inebriation, which- again in hindsight- is harrowing).

First I realized: this was not a logical argument; then: I was _intoxicated_.

"Spock," Jim prompted; we'd been staring at each other without word for sometime (throughout this internal dialogue, in fact).

"Jim," I replied.

"Robbie's having something of a get together at his place. Wanna go?"

"No." Logic lurking in the recesses of my mind suggested I decline, and my executive, emotional self obliged without hesitation.

_Logic_, I recognized in the every last vestige of my mind, _is salvation, _for I had just encountered intoxication in all its candour.

Once rationality has been lost, it is- plainly- lost. That is, one cannot be salvaged by logic once its foundations have been sacrificed. I would have been more apprehensive of this encroaching insanity, but I had already sacrificed much of my logic, making gross justifications on the part of this undermining substance. I am only able to say this now, in sobriety; at the time I did not recognize how deeply compromised I was. Alternatively phrased, I recognized the mechanism of addiction, but I did not recognize that addiction was and is not beyond me.

"Why not?" Jim asked me.

"It is not logical." My lack of reasoning was evident.

"There'll be girls there," he argued.

"And?"

"And, you could hook up with a human chick?" Jim looked annoyed.

"I am doubtful that a Terran female would do such a thing with the readiness you are suggesting_," _I speculated.

Jim, who was still laying on the porch, laid his head back after delivering to me a look which conveyed his exasperation. I found it to be more humorous than perturbing.

"Don't pretend like you don't know you're attractive," he said still annoyed.

"I do not recall saying anything even remotely similar to what you have just accused me of saying."

"Yeah, but it's implied."

I raised a brow.

"Especially when you do that!" His voice grew more irritable than was reasonable, and he flung an arm at me in gesture.

"Is that so?" My increasing amusement was evident in my tone then.

"Obviously. How do you explain those girls?"

"Terran pon farr?" I suggested.

Jim looked confused.

"Hormones," I amended, slightly smiling; it had been a poor joke.

"Not even close." Jim grinned.

"Then?" I tilted my head to the left; there was a pleasant dizziness provoked by movement, and the sensation almost distracted me from what was being said.

"You want to know what they see in you? Alright..." Jim grinned widely, folding his arms beneath his head. After some consideration, he laughingly said, "I guess that you're kind of elegant. That in combination with your body- not to be weird or anything," he glanced quickly at me here- "but, yeah, you've got a fucking perfect body."

"Pardon me?" I deadpanned. Thus far I had attributed the female attentions bestowed on me to simple curiosity; considering my Vulcan heritage, it seemed a logical assumption.

"Like... long legs, and all that shit."

"...I see."

"I mean, that's not why _I_ like you. That's just what they're are probably thinking."

"And why do you like me?" My recessed logic enjoined that I cease this impropriety; I was addressing emotional and indecent subjects outside of meditation and in a compromised state, no less.

"Er- I guess 'cause you're interesting. Like, you're Vulcan- unfeeling, right- but sometimes I can see small expressions on your face, and sometimes you do things consistent with having a sense of humour, albeit a fucking strange one. I like the way you wee things, too; you're incredibly smart, but you're clueless." His words slurred somewhat as he rushed through his short speech. I closed my mouth, and stared at Jim for a long moment.

"Is this why you wish me to accompany you to Robbie's? You did not seem pleased by the prospect of me mating with a Terran female." Indeed, it was my supposition based upon the above statments that Jim wished to be in my company _directly_; however, that did not explain his absence for the last three days.

Jim visibly tensed. "Well, I planned on going anyway, and then I thought you should come because I'd rather hang out with you than not hang out with you."

"We can still do so."

"Not here. Your grandparents are sleeping. And we can't go to Suzanne's, either. You would hate pubs. But I'm out of booze," he said, adding each sentiment after a brief pause.

"Together we may go to the nearest vendor of liquor; I will then return home, and you may go to Robbie's gathering if you are still suited to it. You will have booze and we may, for a time, _hang out _together."

Jim turned his head to regard me in consideration, before he began nodding.

"Alright."


	28. I, xxvii

The starry skies we lie beneath

Jim sat up, and collected the grocery bag from the porch.

"I will retrieve my shoes," I informed him, turning to make my way inside.

"Be careful," he said, with apparent concern. I raised a brow, but did not question him. He seemed to sense the need for elaboration. "If grandparent's catch you..."

"I will be careful," I assured him. I adorned the necessary attire without complication, and when I returned to the porch, I shut the door carefully behind me. Jim was leaning against the railing, but he stood straight while I keyed the lock code into the door. "Let's go," he said, when I turned to him, and he led us down the porch stairs and then around the side of the house. It was dark, with light only provided to us by a waning first quarter moon low on the western horizon. On a whim, I quickly located Eridani, pointing it out to Jim.

"That is the Vulcan sun, what we refer to as Las'hark."

"Is that right?" Jim replied, glancing upward at the correct location without heeding my direction, and I lowered my arm.

We lapsed into silence, then. I followed Jim, and after traversing an estimated one kilometre, we entered a more urban residential neighbourhood where there were street lamps casting pools of light onto the pavement below; each time we entered one it was similar to stepping onto an island in a dark ocean. If I had been alone I might have had cause to panic, but Jim's presence was soothing, and I did not feel isolated or overwhelmed by this disquieting interpretation of my surroundings nor the disquieting unfamiliarity of my mental state which would not cease in attempting to disturb my sense of calm.

"Here, Spock." Jim, at one point, reached into the grocery bag and withdrew another chocolate bar, handing it to me. I took it from him and unwrapped it with anticipation. Jim continued to babble nonsensical things while we walked, talking about cars, sports, computers- anything he thought would not render me completely disinterested, I presume- however, I gave him only a proportion of my attention, wholly preoccupied with enjoying the chocolate I had received.

Then, quite suddenly, we were upon a main road. Across the street was a commercial complex of small and varied shops; among them was one with a yellow sign that read _Hook and Ladder_:our terminus, Jim duly informed me.

We were made to stand for sometime before there was a break in traffic and we were able to cross the street (the entrance to the plaza was the only nearby intersection at which we could cross; however, it was a considerable distance from our location and would require doubling back after doing so).

In the time we waited, I examined the _Hook and Ladder _more closely; it was on the nearest corner, bordered by landscaped shrubbery and a stretch of grass which we soon cut, as well.

I took note of the number of people entering and exiting liquor store relative to the other establishments in the complex as we stepped from the lawn onto the sidewalk which was higher order than even the restaurants_._

"Just act natural, okay?" Jim stopped and turned to me before we reached the door.

I inclined my head in acknowledgement; then he began to squint at me.

"Are you drunk at all?" he asked. "Do you need more chocolate?"

The corners of my lips twitched upward. "I assure you, I am very much intoxicated."

He laughed.

I put more effort into suppressing the compulsion to smile, but his laughter was infectious and caused me to feel lighthearted (a term that, prior to this, I did not think had literal context).

"We should proceed with making the purchases," I prompted. Jim nodded and then turned and stepped over to the door; he pulled it open, and then- what I did not anticipate- he stepped aside as a large group of young adults made their way out. I was directly in their path, and while I moved back as quickly as I was able, three of them came into contact with me, and suddenly the pleasant dizziness I had been experiencing turned to unbearable nausea; with each new emotion transferred to me, I experienced what can be described as waves of dissociation and rapid readjustment to reality, my vision losing focus and then regaining focus in correspondence. I stood in shock after the group had passed, _thank you's _directed at Jim which I could not hear fully; I still stood in this manner when Jim proceeded inside, unawares, something which, again, I only just discerned.

I then turned around and made way to the side of the building and the cover of the landscaping. I quickly located a bush, dropped to my knees behind it, and vomited painfully. The chocolate was bitter and thick as it exited, and hung in dark, viscous streams from my mouth, before coming away and puddling on grass beneath me.

Quite suddenly I felt the urge to sob. The nausea was overwhelming, torturous, and seemed to endure endlessly (though, in retrospect it may have only been minutes). I found myself, next, looking up at space, the stars spinning at a rate far faster than the single-degree-per-minute they ought to have; I thus began to panic.

Where was Vulcan? I could no longer locate it. And where was Jim? I required an anchor or the disorientation, the inability to discern the direction of home, was going to undo the last semblance of self that I had, and I would be nothing other than the awareness of sensation, mainly nausea.

"Spock!"

Reprieve.

"Are you okay?" My vision still impaired, I could capture no more than glimpses of Jim as he made haste to my location.

"Spock?" He put a single hand on my back, and dropped to his knees, putting the bag of chocolate on the grass beside him.

"I do not feel well." There was some desperation in my voice.

"It's fine. Take your time, Spock."

I believe he heard my desperation; if not, he is kinder than I ever realized.

"Please wait for me."

"Yeah. I'll stay."

I was gulping air when the second incident occurred, and I expelled what little was remaining in me. It was more painful this time; I found myself centralizing all of my attention upon Jim's hand which was a protective weight upon my spine- however inappropriate it may be. It was unlike coming into contact with those strangers exiting the store; the presence of Jim's consciousness was calming and his emotions were soothing and steady.

"I apologize that you have been made to watch this," I told him after my breathing returned to normal. I was beginning to recover, and I had the urge to turn then, and tell Jim that I loved him dearly- any other sufficient words of gratitude were alluding me presently- meanwhile, my awareness of the importance of his actions only increased when his hand came away, and I was suddenly alone once more.

Jim chuckled. "It's fine, it's fine."

"Thank you," I said, sitting back, displeased by the readily apparent inadequacy of the expression.

His voice was cheerful when he remarked, "You'd do it for me."

I was forced to take pause to consider this statement. Would I do it for him? Despite my initial resentment, my hesitation in forming this relationship, his discourteous disappearance, and now his corrupting influence?

The answer came unassumingly and irrefutability that I _would_ do the same for Jim. It diminished my ulterior misgivings and amplified my regard for him; this is what had I expected of friendship.

"I would," I replied later, but Jim either did not hear or chose not to respond.

He did not understand the weight of my appreciation; I shook my head absentmindedly, at a loss and disappointed for it. We sat for another five minutes or so; Jim begin to talk again. When I was once again in an acceptable state, I stood, Jim following suit after gathering the grocery bag. We walked backed to the store entrance; then Jim stopped and turned to me.

"Here," he said, handing the bag to me. "You should wait outside. You don't have a fake ID, and there's really no point in taking the risk that you'll get stopped. Plus, you could probably use the fresh air."

"That is agreeable to me," I nodded in assent.

Then Jim turned and made his way into the store for the second time, and I turned my attention to the goings on of the plaza at large, facing the parking lot.

Sometime later the door opened behind me, but I knew this was not Jim by the sound of the footsteps. My mental faculties were once again assaulted when a Terran female approached me from behind and tapped me upon the shoulder. I jerked away rather quickly, but still, without the wherewithal to discipline my mind, I received a sleuth of emotions: concern, worry, trepidation, anger.

"Hey, do you by chance have a smoke I can bum?" I turned to face a tall woman with wavy red hair; I could discern tension in the way she carried herself and in her voice when she spoke, as well.

"Negative" I replied, though, I had little idea to what she was referring. Then I asked, "Are you well?"

"Yeah, I guess." She frowned worriedly. "Well, my boyfriend is piss drunk, and he's a ass when he's drunk. He's in there right now, getting more alcohol. I'm just a bit stressed out."

I frowned, as well. "Most unfortunate."

"Yeah," the female agreed.

"...Might I be of assistance," my question was lacking any inflection, and I felt my brows lift. This was the first I had ever raised a brow at myself in such a manner; I huffed suddenly, and then there was a smile tugging at my lips, and my breathing was irregular, and I could not stop it. _Laughter_. I felt at once happy and tired.

"Spock?"

I turned to find Jim staring at me, his mouth hanging open, and I only just noticed the door of the liquor store swinging closed behind him. I continued to laugh.

"What'd you say?" he asked incredulously, turning to the red haired girl to whom I'd been speaking, a tentative smile upon him.

"Nothing." She shrugged, sounding perplexed. This time I was aware when yet another patron exited the _Hook and Ladder_, and I looked over to meet the eyes of a large man wearing a thunderous expression. My laughter began to taper off.

"Hey!" he shouted, coming toward us. He looked to be unsteady on his feet, and his glare was somewhat unfocused. "Why the fuck're you talkin' to my girlfriend?" he growled.

Jim faltered, "What? We didn't even know-"

"Yeah right, you fuckin' didn't know." The seemed to be as inebriated as I was.

"Ricky-" the red haired girl turned to him.

"No! No, if this little bitch wants a fight, then I'll give him a fight."

"I'm not looking for a fight _Ricky_, and I suggest you watch your fucking mouth," Jim said.

"Jim." I shook my head in disagreement with his strategy, then turned to the female and her partner. "My apologies. We were just leaving."

I swayed on my feet, turning to leave, and Jim took a step to follow. Then the oaf of a man pulled his fist back and struck Jim, who staggered backward with an, "Oof," but thankfully did not fall (his purchases were still in hand). However, he was holding his face in his hands, pain evident, and I felt a vicious anger uncoiling inside of me.

With no real thought, I turned and delivered a strike of my own.

Indeed, felt Ricky's nose give way like a small twig, audibly breaking (perhaps I might also have fractured his cheek bones; it is hard to say), and I heard the red haired female screaming beside me. This Ricky did not stagger back as Jim had, but flew back, skidding to a stop on the pavement. He didn't move or make a sound following this, and the female ran over to him, kneeling. I heard Jim groan behind me and turned to see him squinting from behind a single hand.

"Good god, Spock," Jim said, his eyes watering. "That wasn't fair at all. You broke his nose, knocked him out."

"If one physically assaults another, one has accepted the possibility of retaliation. The surplus damage was for acting despite the apology I offered and for striking when you had turned away. I believe it was justified action." I had not acted on this premise; I merely fabricated it when my prudence was called into question. I felt guilty for this, but there was no other rationale I could offer.

"I guess so," Jim said.

"Then?" I asked.

"Then what?" Jim looked up at me from the ground; the side of his chin was already colouring.

"Shall we go?"

"I guess so," he repeated, nodding. He took pause to glance over at the other pair; Ricky was beginning to sit up, and the female was attempting to ascertain his state.

"Is your head hurting very much?" I asked Jim. He was now leaning on me, though I was rather unstable myself. We stumbled our way toward the street, and I- flagrantly- disregarded the empathic connection established between us; it felt far too natural and comforting to, in my state, curtail the contact, to pull away as common decency would have me do. The justifications were markedly similar to those I had made about consuming chocolate freely, and I wondered what detriment this awareness of Jim would see to me.

He shook his head. "'Just throbbing is all... Thanks, Spock."

"For what?" I queried.

"For helping me. You know," he gestured to our stance with his free arm; the other was slung around my shoulders- advantageously so, as there was no contact with my bare neck. "And for defending me before."

Indeed, I could sense his gratitude.

"It was of no consequence," I said, as we crossed the lawn.

"Yeah? Let's see that hand of yours." I extended my arm from its position coiled around Jim's waist and held the back of my hand, splayed, in front of him. There was no swelling, nor bruising, nor any pain. He reached out, though, with his free hand and his fingers ghosted over my knuckles.

_-must have to restrain himself with that kind of strength-_

I inhaled sharply and Jim looked at me. His contentment had come to me, unexpectedly in intense, the instant his skin had connected with mine and then it was ended as quickly, leaving me in a final, bereft state.

"Spock?"

"I was startled." I took another breath, my arm recoiling around his waist. I could feel him watching me, but then he seemed to relinquish; he looked away. We walked in silence until we were once again traversing the under the street lamps, Jim walking fairly well at this time (he had also stopped caressing his cheek bone at odd intervals and subsequently wincing). Still, we did not move apart; while the contact we had was now experienced in a diminished capacity, it continued to support me.

"Hey, Spock, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"What were you laughing at before?" I considered this as we passed under another street lamp. I blinked. Then my lips turned up at the memory. We went from light to dark again, and I attempted to find words for the sentiment.

"I asked a question- _might I be of assistance?-_ without any inflection. It sounded... exceedingly strange." I looked at Jim; his expression was one of fascination, but I could not understand it- his appreciation- for what I had just communicated was rather tactlessly conveyed and a veritably bland inducement, enough to be considered illogical, even unlikely.

"I raised my brows at myself," I realized then, wondering that I would be driven to laughter over such a insignificant occurrence. I smiled first, then began to laugh again; it was consisted only of breath. Jim blinked once. Then he began laughing, as well, and it was of course more uninhibited than my own, but this only served to increase my pleasure.

"Jesus, Spock, you really do have a weird sense of humour," he said eventually.

"That may be the case," I concurred with a light smile.

"It _is_ the case."

We were back home soon after this, coming to a stop in front of the my grandparent's home, our arms still wound around one another, and we stood there for time, in silence.

"Come on," Jim said abruptly. He grinned at me, then began to pull me toward and across the lawn- to the middle of it, to be precise. There he untangled himself from my side, and dropped to the ground, laying on his back. I expected to feel some loss at the separation, but I did not; he still remained in close proximity, and as if his consciousness had left an imprint upon my mind, I retained a sense of him (though, of course, it was not a psionically active impression). I was pleased by this.

Jim patted the grass beside him.

"Let's stargaze," he said.

I lifted a brow. "Stargaze?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't realize you had an interest in astronomy," I replied, lowering myself to lay next to him.

"Well, _you_ showed an interest in it on our way out, didn't you?" He smirked. "But I _don't-_ have an interest in it, I mean. I can appreciate the stars, though. My dad loved them, and my mom loved them... Now that I think about it I was _born_ in space."

"Were you?"

Jim nodded, "They were in Starfleet, my parents. I think my mom still is."

"You do not know," I observed.

"No, I don't. My dad, George, died aboard the _USS Kelvin _the day I was born. Mom married Frank when I was three. She left me with him and went back to Starfleet since Frank was too pathetic to support himself. I think mom wanted to be off-world, though; she only came home when I- well, when I nearly got myself killed in a... car accident. I thought things would be alright after that, but it turned out she came only came back to put me in foster care." He concluded with mirthless laughter.

"That is most upsetting, Jim, and I believe your indignation is justified: your mother is extraordinarily callous." I was uncertain how else to respond. I was both confounded by his confession and experiencing- what was likely a result of my recent telepathic contact or, too, the chocolate which continued to affect me- a significant amount of emotional pain on his behalf. Never would I have supposed Jim to be the victim of such _inhumanity_.

"Is that what you want, as well?" I asked after a time.

"Want what?" Jim, I could discern from the movement of his eyes, was seeking constellation patterns among the stars.

"To join Starfleet."

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. What about you? 'Interested in space exploration?"

"Yes, I have considered it; it is an appealing prospect."

"And? Why are you going to the Vulcan Science Academy if you want a career in space exploration?"

"My father would not approve."

"So?"

"My father would not approve, Jim."

"_So_?"

"The Science Academy is the most exclusive and prestigious school on Vulcan. To disregard the opportunity to attend is unthinkable, and the chance that I will gain admission is very high- my father is on the board of admissions, and I am not without my accomplishments. He would be infuriated if I were to reject an offer."

"It's not his life." Jim frowned. "You should do what you want to do."

"I have never had an ideal relationship with my father. If I disobeyed him in this, I believe it would be irreversibly damaged. There are those things not worth the repercussions, Jim."

"That's not true."

"I would sooner attend the Vulcan Science Academy than destroy my relationship with my father." I attempted to put it in more blunt terms.

"But, that's unfair!" Jim exploded. "Are you considering that he would force you into something that makes you unhappy? How is a person who is willing to put themselves before you worth that?"

"You are correct; it would not be worth a person of such a caliber, but my father is not putting hims betterment before mine. He is Vulcan; rather, he chooses to comprehend only what is logical."

"I don't believe that. In fact, I don't believe that you believe that."

I did not answer. Jim was watching me, and I knew that he was discerning more than that, because he was, indeed, correct. I did not- do not- believe that father is ignorant about unhappiness. I could have rebuked then that he is likely pressuring me out of love and concern, but it would have been a fallacy, and Jim would have known this.

"I'm sorry," Jim said, abruptly. "I didn't mean it."

"I believe you did, but it matters not."

"Yes, it does. It's just, I don't really know what it's like to have parents. It's your dad. Of course you would put him before yourself. That would be he case no matter what he did, right?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Really, I am sorry, Spock. I get it, and I'm not judging you or him."

"I take no offence." It is true that perhaps such commentary would have been offensive had it been versed by another, but not by Jim and certainly not following what he confided in me (this could be interpreted to mean it was not offensive for pity's or sympathy's sake, but I am referring to the development of confidence, even trust); I wondered now if I should not have found more to say on the matter because while Jim was clearly expressing an interest in my life I was not certain I had done the same in turn.

"I feel like I should explain-"

"There is no need." I attempted to reassure him with an infirm smile.

He pursed his lips in blatant contemplation; then, decision made he openly grinned. "So the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"Yes."

"'Sounds fun."


	29. I, xxviii

In the morning I'll be with you

"This grass is really comfy," Jim commented, his tone one of extreme fatigue.

"I concur," I replied, experiencing the same phenoemnon.

We had talked for over two hours on a variety of subjects, until Jim had begun yawning which induced me to do the same. In the developing silence, and haze which shrouded my mind grew, Jim sounding increasingly distant.

"We should... really go inside."

"I am aware of that," I said and swallowed despite the dryness in my mouth and throat. My eyes had closed sometime ago, and it became onerous to open them; at the last moment it seemed to be a physical impossibility.

Then Jim said, "We should... just... stay out here."

I did not answer because in the next moment, I was sleeping.


	30. I, xxix

But it'll be a different kind

"What in god's name!" I could discern a shrill voice just beyond my conscious awareness.

"Spock!" My eyes opened, but then quickly shut. The sun overhead was blinding.

"I go to your room to see if you want to go _out_ for breakfast today, but you're _already out_- you're nowhere to be found! I was so worried! What would your parents say to me if they knew! Oh god, I was about to go driving about the neighbourhood looking for you, you shameless boy!"

I squinted up at grandmother, Jim stirring beside me.

"What's all the ruckus, Bertha?" Grandfather's muffled voice came from inside house, and then I heard the door open. Grandfather began to roar with laughter; I could tell he was approaching our position on the lawn by the steadily increasing volume of his mirth.

"I found him," grandmother said in a firm and clearly irritated voice.

I forced myself to sit up, my spine interspersed with shooting pains.

"I apologize for worrying you, grandmother, grandfather," I looked over at Jim. He was shifting on his back, groaning, and his face remained bruised where he had been struck.

"Jim and I were stargazing and fell asleep before we were to return indoors. It was our intention to do so."

Grandfather's laughter renewed and I gave him a slightly startled look.

"We're old, not stupid, Spock," grandmother said.

"It's true Mrs. Greyson," Jim said, he had flipped onto his stomach, his face now pressed to the grass; he somehow managed to make the lawn appear to be as comfortable as a feather mattress, which it certainly was- is- not. "We fell asleep stargazing."

"Oh, sure. How do you explain the puke on Spock's shirt?" I looked down at my shirt at this. "I've never seen such a disheveled couple of bums before." Grandmother's hands were on her hips.

"I never said we didn't drink- or eat chocolate." Jim groaned again, perhaps at the sound of his own garbled voice. "'Just wanted you to know Spock doesn't think you're a fool."

Grandmother huffed. "Get up then. Breakfast in half an hour."

She and grandfather turned and went back inside, grandfather commenting that it would have been prudent to have taken a photograph.

"I must attend to my hygienic needs, Jim."

He grunted, and I stood, turning to stare at him thereafter.

Jim did not make any movement or other indication that he had intentions of removing himself from the lawn.

"Jim?"

"I'm just going to lay here awhile," he said, turning his head enough so that he could see me.

He grinned.

"Love the bed head."

I blinked. His own hair was mussed, as well, and his clothes, too, were twisted about his body; in fact, I rather thought he resembled a vagrant laying on the ground as he was. This only made me keener to wash.

"I will see you in thirty minutes," I said, resigned to leaving him as he was.


	31. I, xxx

I watched you sleep and dream

After I returned to the house I attended to my hygienic needs, showering and dressing among other things. When I arrived in the kitchen Jim was already there, his elbow propped on the tabletop and his head resting in his hand. He had also showered and changed, and he looked refreshed but not entirely recovered. He nodded very slightly me when I entered and later flinched when grandmother called for grandfather. I took my seat beside him and grandmother put on the table before me a non-replicated dish of sliced fruits and a bagel smeared with cream cheese with a cup of hot tea; I thanked her and immediately began eating. She placed in front of Jim a similar plate only beside his toast was a smaller portion of fruit and large portion of eggs, and instead of tea, a cup of coffee was set beside it. He ate slowly, and I had finished before he had consumed even half of his own food. I glanced at him several times while I sipped my tea and grandmother and grandfather ate and talked between themselves.

When grandfather had finished and left the kitchen, and grandmother had begun to tidy the counters, I and asked him, "Are you unwell, Jim?"

He looked up at me, chin still planted in his palm with his eyebrows raised, "Yeah- well, besides the hangover, yeah. Why?"

"Hangover," I repeated; I was certainly familiar with the term and its meaning, however I was not knowledgeable of its specific symptoms. Jim answered me of his own accord.

"Mm... Nausea, headache, fatigue."

"You are experiencing these things presently?"

"Just an uneasy stomach is all. I don't really get hangovers. I'm in for nap, though. What about you? How are you?"

"I am well."

Jim grinned.

He left after breakfast, thanking grandmother, and nodding to me once again.

I spent the remainder of the day meditating and continuing with my project.


	32. I, xxxi

You shine so much brighter

Today- Friday- was much the same as yesterday excluding the location of my waking moment. Also, while I did not meet Jim today, I did speak to mother in the morning.

"Spock!" she exclaimed. "How are you?"

"I am well, mother. How are you?"

"Fine. Just, fine."

I told her of my trip to the museum (I asked if she wished for me to send her the pictures then, but mother said she would much rather view them when I was present) and of my project, but when she asked after Jim I found myself giving clipped replies and omitting what she undoubtedly would consider the more pertinent details of recent events, such as my copious consumption of chocolate which, even in the midst of our conversation, my thoughts continuously returned to.

I loathe this state of precursor addiction. It is fortunate I do not have ready access to chocolate for I imagine I would consume it at this point in time, not for the sake of the substance itself, but simply to allay this struggle.

I once considered avoidance techniques to be petty and undignified, but it has become clear that _this_, while indeed an ignominious battle, requires- and therefore tells- of a strength no complacent pharmacological treatment or surgical procedure could extort from a person.

Today I have gone to great lengths to occupy myself and satiate my cravings: I consumed a variety of sweets, including dried mangos and dates; I have slept and meditated in excess of my usual routine; I have stretched. Still, I am tired and unwell. I am not discouraged, however; within the interval of time between this entry and the last I have noticed a marked decline in my fixation.

The above is not to convey a desire for examination; indeed, I do not have any desire to journal or even consider the seriousness of this situation, grave and unsettling as it is.

I am inclined to believe that grandmother and grandfather are not aware of this for there seems to be some taciturnity on their part... Grandmother was moving past the terminal when mother stopped her to inquire after my behaviour (undoubtedly this was meant to be humorous), but grandmother mentioned nothing of my excursion with Jim; instead, she readily appraised me.

The conversation then turned to the duration of my stay- how long I had been away and how much longer I will be (one and one-half Terran weeks presently). Time was, as mother said, _flying by_. Never would I have supposed that- apart from this setback (which has its merits in, as mentioned above, making known to me my own strength of will)- that I might enjoy myself on Earth. I have found it thus far to be a highly enlightening experience.


	33. I, xxxii

Dusting down the stars

"Holy shit, Spock." Jim entered into my room ahead of me, surveying it. "It looks like a storm hit." He walked to the desk and ran his hands over the project computer, completed in its construction (I am ready to program the security software, and I will begin tomorrow).

Jim appeared in the afternoon today. I met him at the door, and he said, "You wanna do something, Spock?"

"That would be agreeable," I murmured, still fatigued, but able to put good use to such a distraction. Jim said he would take me on a _hometown tour_ but that first he wanted to see how the project was progressing. I acquiesced and led him to my room. We ended up spending over two and one-half hours there, and I found myself explaining in depth to him the principles of my security software, giving him an overview of the hardware integration schematics, and the precise operation of it- algorithms, even. I pitched to him the efficiency of the design in the way the software and hardware collaborate and, too, the virtually impenetrable layers ; I also explained its limited shortcomings, describing the loopholes and _backdoors_ which I am struggling to remove from the system. I considered this practice for future presentation of the project to my instructors (perhaps I should not have, but I was compelled to do so).

I continuously paused in my speech to inquire if Jim comprehended my meaning and if he wished for me to continue. He insisted each time that he did and urged me to continue, and he listened with flattering rapture throughout my spiel. I even provided him a copy of my paper to read, downloading it onto a PADD for him once it had been translated from Vulcan to English. It is several pages long; I told him there was no need to make haste in completing his reading.

After that, we had an extensive debate about the pros and cons of certain security protocols, discussed the latest on the cyber security market, and then conferred upon the latest systems on the cybernetic market in general and the advancement of computer science.

Then, on our way out, I informed grandmother of my departure. It was an relatively hot, exceedingly bright day; the sun was shining with unusual intensity. Jim was wearing his grey pants with a purple half sleeve shirt; I was dressed in standard black pants and a loose, dark grey, three-quarter sleeve shirt. Certainly I was not uncomfortable, but I was concerned that Jim would be, that he would experience overheating. I asked if it wold not be better for us to stay indoors.

"No worries," Jim informed me, "Where I'm taking you, there's a breeze."


	34. I, xxxiii

You say you wish that you could fly

Jim and I arrived in a park approximately fourty minutes later by way of public transit. The park is outside of the neighbouring municipality, a distance up one of the mountains in the region; the roads were winding and lined with luscious greenery. I noted a wooden sign reading _Lincoln Park _among this greenery within the last segment of our travel. We walked through the car lot, past the playground, and into the extensive gardens at the back. There were a dozen winding trails, each branching off into several smaller ones, disappearing into bushes, trees, behind floral landscapes, or statues, leading to fountains, et cetera. Jim led me by all of these, cutting across a field of grass (I felt uncomfortable about walking on the carefully manicured lawn, but I had noticed many people throughout the garden, picnicking as it were, reading, or even sleeping upon it).

Jim, without hesitation, pushed between two bushes when we came to the edge of the field. I faltered for a moment, but then went forward, stepping carefully around any plants in the bed. It was a great deal darker and cooler under the cover of the trees; in the bower, between the trunks, I could see Jim moving away, and I proceeded in his direction, refraining myself from questioning him yet again.

It was not long before he came to a stop, waiting for me to grow level with him.

In front of us was a chain link fence that extended beyond view, both to the left and the right. On the other side of the fence were more trees, but I could see through them the beginnings of open space. Jim approached the rusted fence, squatting near one of the metal posts punctuating it's otherwise continuous pattern. He took hold of a corner and pulled the metal weave back so that a good-sized orifice was created.

"Well." Jim gestured towards the opening. I raised an eyebrow but found myself approaching, and subsequently passing through. When I stood on the other side I adjusted my shirt and Jim came up behind me, putting the fence to rights before turning and leading me straight ahead, toward the light.

"This is my favourite place," Jim said. We emerged from the trees, and, as Jim was watching for my reaction, I raised my brows to convey my surprise.

We both stood on a small section of land, of dry dirt and rock; not four meters in front of us was a sizeable drop, a small canyon of sorts. Below, at the foot of the crag, were more rocks, all of the same sand colour; they went up toward the cliff-face directly across from us. To the right, on the mountain above, were trees as there were trees behind us; to the left was open sky and dropping landscape, such that we had an unobscured view of the horizon. I was acutely aware of how small Jim and I were within this scope of these things, and I found myself wondering if that was not why Jim enjoyed the place.

"It is aesthetically pleasing," I told him. A bird soared across the canyon, and I could feel the breeze he had mentioned about beckoning me into the open.

I then turned to meet his eye, as it had not wavered, and he cocked his head to one side. He smiled and waved to the cliff's edge, stepping over to it before seating himself. I moved to do the same, our feet hanging over the edge.

"You can't tell anybody about this place," he said.

I gave him my word that I would not, and we lapsed into companionable contemplation for a time. The silence of this place was encompassing and very pleasing; the aforementioned bird began to caw, but the sound was muffled due to the atmospheric convection.

"When are you going back to Vulcan?" Jim asked, glancing at me.

"I am departing seven days from now."

"...Saturday next week, then?"

"Correct." I inclined my head.

"Are you... looking forward to going back?"

I looked at Jim. "I have no feelings about it."

He lifted his brow. "Well, I think it sucks. Will you visit again? Or you probably won't get the chance to, right?"

"I most likely will not have the opportunity to." I nodded.

Jim was silent for a time.

"We were just getting to be friends." I grew still at this, uncertain how to respond and attempting to refrain from giving Jim any indication that I would. He said after another pause, "I don't know. I like you. You just seem... right... for lack of a better word."

"...Most interesting."

Jim looked at me and laughed. "If that's what you want to call it. I've never had a friend like that- I wouldn't know"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I was stunned that Jim thought us friends, and even more that he deemed me a friend unlike others. It was both shocking and pleasing at one and the same time, but I remained skeptical.

"You have many friends, Jim. Are you forgetting Robbie?" I had no desire to be taken for a fool. Jim does indeed have many friends; he is well liked by many, and I sense that he, in turn, likes many. Logic then dictates, that I could not possibly, among these people, have greater value.

"They're not real friends," he replied. I felt inexplicably pleased at this (and somewhat selfish, for perhaps I should have been pitying Jim... but he has more friends than I have ever, and- if he so chose it- could have as many as he wants what with his undeniably strong charisma), but still I was attempting to examine these words, this knowledge for any flaw or disparity.

"Robbie's a nice guy, but I don't know him _that_ well, and I think- though we've only known each other for two and a half weeks- that you know me better than him, and I think I get you, too," he said thoughtfully.

"...Most interesting," I repeated after a thoughtful pause.

"Is that all you've got to say?" Jim shot me an accusing look, but his eyes were mirthful.

"I am not certain. What would you have me say?" I raised a single eyebrow, but felt as if I were not entirely fending off the frown that was attempting to make itself known in my features and across my brow.

"I'm not sure," Jim laid back on the rock; it was covered in a very fine, dry dirt, that would undoubtedly cover the back of his clothing. He seemed not to care, a leg swinging back and forth over the cliff face.

"...Tell me about life on Vulcan. It's a desert world, yeah? Is the air dusty?" he asked, picking up a hand full of dirt, letting it crumble out of his hand only to be caught on the wind and carried, eventually, to the bottom of the crag.

"Yes, exceedingly so in the desert, but not excessively in the metropolises," I answered.

"What else?"

"...It is much quieter than here. The floors do not creak."

"Quiet?"

"Yes."

I thought to tell him, if nothing else, of my isolation on Vulcan and his similar value to me as a friend. Withholding this information from Jim could be considered selfish- timorous, as well- given my motives for doing so, yet, in truth, it was ultimately the thought that I may regret not speaking to him candidly that undermined and then re-compounded my resolve.

"I thank you for your earlier sentiment. I also appreciate our friendship, nor have I had one comparable to it; in actuality, I do not have many friends on Vulcan," and this was the extent of what I desired to express.

Jim turned toward me after a moment, his countenance gratified as it were; then he frowned. "You don't?" he asked, and his expression was one of confusion and surprise.

"No. I do not. Why should that be surprising?"

"It's just- of all the Vulcans- you're probably the most human- well, you _are_ the most human- but the most friendly and sociable is what I'm trying to say."

"That is precisely the issue." My logical mind was adamant that I desist: I was exposing too much, inevitably Jim would demonstrate a made-poor opinion of me, and I would experience some disappointment in myself. "My mixed heritage is not widely accepted- at least, not by my peers," I said in conclusion, lending a finality to my tone.

"_What?_" Jim seemed to be on the verge of outrage in a mere instant.

It was a poorer reaction than if he were to have more or less dismissed me; I did not expect a confirmation that it is as pathetic as it has seemed.

"It is of no consequence," I said.

"Of course it is! They shun you for being half human- when you're as _Vulcan_ as you are? Isn't it illogical or something to judge somebody like that?"

I shifted. "It is. However, Vulcans are not without their faults, Jim... It is of no consequence."

"_Emotional_ faults," Jim spat; I glimpsed his face, appearing disgusted, before he turned away.

Next, there came the familiar sense of disappointment, and quite put out by it, I stood. "We should return home," I said, without intonation.

Jim looked up in surprise.

"What? Why?"

"I have seen what you wished me to see and must resume work on my project."

"You can do it later," he said, frowning.

"I am also hungry. I require nourishment."

"You had lunch just before we left."

"It is-"

"Quit with the lame excuses, Spock. What is this really about?" Jim sat up, and turned to me.

"I do not know to what you are referring, Jim." I blinked, physical punctuation of this statement.

Jim sighed.

"I wasn't judging Vulcans," Jim narrowed his eyes, "but... of course I would be angry that they would treat you like that."

I stiffened. "You were not disgusted with Vulcans at large; then with whom were you disgusted?"

"No one." Jim looked confused, and I was beginning to become confused, as well, as I believed what Jim said to me to be true.

"I was disgusted with the situation." This statement I found myself considering for a length of time; Jim likewise seemed to be in contemplation.

My thoughts were of this nature: Jim felt indignation on my part, and I had experienced some indignation on Jim's part at the liquor store; indeed, it would seem this is a legitimate product of friendship. It can also be stated, the similarities in our responses indicate our relationship has equal value to both parties, as supporting evidence to prior claims.

Though, it did not seem to be causing Jim any confusion, and that could either be attributed to the fact that he has had many friendships in his life time (despite his claims that none were of the same caliber as ours) or because he simply has a more extensive understanding of these emotional reactions.

"Oh," Jim said; he seemed to have reached some conclusions of his own. "Did you think I was... disappointed in you?"

"Perhaps," I inclined my head, "but I realize now that you were reacting- indignantly- on behalf of me." Jim eyed me suspiciously but nodded.

"I can't believe that you would think me so petty." He gestured for me to reassume my place next to him, which I did. "Maybe you _don't_ know me that well."

I resumed observing the landscape, but soon I noticed his eyes on me in my periphery, and so I turned to glance at him, and his eyes were moving in the opposite direction; I noticed his cheeks increasing in saturation. Physiologically blood rushing to the face can mean a Terran is experiencing a number of things- exertion, embarrassment, various illnesses, et cetera. I examined Jim's face closely, my eyebrows pulling together ever so slightly. His face was continuing to redden.

"Jim." Some of my concern was known in my voice. Abruptly, his eyes connected with mine. "Blood is rushing to your face; are you overheating? Perhaps we should remove ourselves from this direct sunlight?"

"No, it's nothing." His cheeks were now their deepest colour.

"Are you certain?" I asked.

"Positive," he nodded. I inclined my head but my eyes lingered a time before I turned.

I noticed Jim's arm moving to his face in my peripheral vision then, and suspecting that he had deceived me, turned around quickly. Jim's hand was covering his eyes, but he seemed to sense I was watching him and his hand flew away.

"Are you certain?" I asked again. Jim looked like he was fighting a grin and nausea at one and the same time.

He nodded, and sat up. "The sun was in my eyes."

"I see."

Jim and I talked about unimportant things, and I went to examining the area in increments. Throughout our conversation, I found my eyes inexplicably drawn to him; Jim seemed to have a similar affliction as each time I allowed myself to look at him directly, he too was looking at me, and then his eyes would move away in the instant before they met mine.

We remained there until the sky began to subtly alter in colour, and then made our way back through the trees and fence into the garden. I must admit, I would not have been averse to staying for sometime more.

We boarded the shuttle to return us at seven, Jim declaring that he was starved, and that we should go for dinner to which, after some expressed hesitation on my part and insistence on Jim's, I relinquished. Jim said that he knew of an ideal establishment, though not precisely in those words.

In totality we took two shuttles: the first we disembarked halfway; the second shuttle took us toward the city centre. The first shuttle was not full by any means but the second was_,_ and Jim and I were made to stand; I found myself pressed against the window, Jim incloseproximity. He left a fine sliver of space between us, enough so that we were not touching, for which I was grateful. People pressed into him from the behind, but Jim refused to reposition. Only once did he waver; the first time the shuttle began to move he had been unprepared and, losing his balance, found his person in full contact with my own. He stood back swiftly enough and looked at me, appearing chagrined.

"Did...?" Jim asked.

"Negative."

"How does it work?"

"If I had intention of seeking your mind with my own, then very little contact would be needed for me to accomplish this. In situations such as this I am actively shielding my mind, however. Therefore, no matter the contact we may have, transference is curtailed." I omitted the fact that in compromising situations, such as being intoxicated, the same cannot be said for my restraint. "I- and other Vulcans- are averse to making excess contact with others, because while our telepathic abilities maybe suppressed, our empathic awareness cannot of others cannot be; it is akin to the auditory sense."

Jim shifted his weight between his feet. "You could have told me that."

"I apologize for the misunderstanding."

Jim, though his expression of anxiety had come and gone, remained silent until fifteen minutes later; he instructed that we were remove ourselves from the shuttle which we did, and became animated once we were disembarked. I was tugged by the sleeve in the direction that the majority of others seemed to be moving, Jim then chatting endlessly without need for reply. He did not acknowledge that I had not spoken until we were crossing the street to another sidewalk, this one as highly populated as the last and lined with shops of a great variety.

"Spock, if you didn't wanna come you should have just said something."

I was amused by this and refrained from replying that I had, indeed, made my protestations; in any regard, I did not find the situation to be very disagreeable as I had suspected I would. I also thought to mention that Jim had been silent longer than I had; lastly, I remained quiet to determine the potential duration of Jim's verbal spew where his motivations had been far more questionable.

"I don't mind if you want to go back. It's no problem." He watched me closely.

"Indeed?"

"You've hardly said a thing this entire time." Jim's brow furrowed.

"I was listening to you."

I had no qualms with simply listening to Jim's banter. It is fascinating how accustom to his manner of speech I have become- his diction, use of colloquialisms and idioms, and even preferred insults. I have, likewise, improved in predicting his thoughts and opinions.

"Sure you were," Jim said loudly, sarcastically.

I glanced around to see if any of those surrounding had taken notice of us; there would have been alarm if we were on Vulcan and Jim was speaking in such an elevated tone.

"If you choose to deny the explanation I have given, there is nothing more I for me to say."

"What's so interesting about my perpetual chatter anyway?" he asked after a moment.

"I do not know," I said, my brows rising somewhat in an attempt to convey my perplexity.

Jim snorted loudly, and again, I found myself surveying the immediate area for unwanted attention. It has, of course, occurred to me that Jim's volume is standard on Earth, but it is unnecessary; human ears are not so insensitive as to warrant such noise, and yet those surrounding us were speaking as loudly. There was, in fact, even some shouting at a distance- however, it became apparent that this was not of similar origin when discerned the sound of breaking glass. Jim, too, heard this.

"What's happening?" he asked, frowning as he turned; his pace was quicker than it had been when he began in the direction of the disruption. Then something akin to an explosion sounded, and there was screaming. Jim began to run, weaving his way through the crowd, myself following as I knew he would not halt to hear my misgivings.

I perceived smoke rising into the darkening sky well before I did the flames.

"Holy shit!" Jim said as we broke through a ring of people surrounding a three story building that had caught fire. Even from meters away the heat radiating from the building burned my face; I had to turn somewhat away.

Then we heard muffled screaming from inside.

Jim's eyes widened in horror. "Spock, there are people in there," he said, turning to me.

A woman beside us who overheard Jim spoke. "Emergency services are on their way, but no one's going to go in there." She said this in what was a fascinated tone, apparently enjoying the scene; I turned from her with thinly veiled disgust. Jim seemed to have similarly been affected by her callous tone; he looked at me with desperation. "Spock, we have to help them."

"Jim, help will be here within minutes."

"They don't have minutes!"

"Jim, it is too dangerous!"

Another window exploded somewhere, presumably on the other side of the building, and there was yet another agonized wail. Jim's face hardened in a too short moment, and then he turned from me, running toward the fire. A physical sense of dread came over me, and I was fixed in place by this horrifying turn of events. It was too illogical.

I watched Jim as he stepped through the door, as he disappeared into the oppressing flame.

"Jim!" I called belatedly, and the immovability of my body seemed to no less than break. I was running forward, and I was unable to stop.

I have never experienced such singular fixation upon one subject so as to preclude the danger I myself faced. My only thoughts in that moment were of Jim...

_He has no oxygen; he will lose consciousness from smoke inhalation, perhaps asphyxiate. _

_He has no protective clothing; he may burn alive. _

_I may never speak with him again._


	35. I, xxxiv

Let me look in your eyes, they burn like fire

Jim had not made it very far into the building, but he had not needed to.

The woman we heard screaming was on the ground floor, encompassed by the fire and now passed out, her clothing aflame in several areas. I could see Jim with charred curtains around his shoulders; though, half was burned away, they served in delivering him through the ring of fire around the woman. I could see him attempting to rouse her, then lifting her, and then dragging her from the corner. I needed to reach them quicker, but I was hindered by the building beginning to collapse around me and the heat which was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It felt as if all traces of moisture were dissipated from me, as if my blood was granulated; more than once I looked down to see if my skin was peeling back from my flesh, burning and blackening. My heart, too,was affected; it pounded but this was surely detrimental to me. My sears, though, were perhaps in the greatest agony, the tips of them scorched, and the roar of the fire deafening. It undermined my own thoughts which frustrated me and panicked me, and perhaps worst of all: it disabled what communication we may have established from this distance, Jim and I. I could not allow myself to call to him regardless, for the damage that would be done to my throat and lungs.

By the time I reached the back of the house, Jim had collapsed among the flames as if he were laying in a meadow instead of a burning building, and instead of fire it was grass curling around him, the embers insects, and the half fallen rafters above us the boughs of a tree. He had thrown the curtain unceremoniously over the unconscious women, I noted as I kneeled beside him.

"Jim!" I called, my voice raspy to the point that it was nearly unrecognizable.

Jim had collapsed but he was not unconscious. "Spock," he said, forcing himself to sit up. I was astounded. It was difficult for me to remain conscious and upright in this environment, and I had Vulcan physiology to my advantage- the ability to function in heat, the ability to survive in a thin atmosphere.

"Take the girl." His voice was as damaged as mine.

"No. I am not leaving you," I told him, hauling him to his feet with a hand gripping his upper arm- his pure exhaustion overcame me, as powerful as physical restraints.

"Take her! You won't be able to take both of us." Jim was leaning heavily on me, his head bent, face pressed to my shoulder.

"No."

"Spock, I'll be right behind you. I can get myself out. She can't."

It was selfish and cruel, no doubt, that I considered choosing Jim over this woman, but I did not wish to fathom leaving him. It then occurred to me that Jim likely would not forgive me for leaving the woman behind. Moreover, he was correct: he had a chance of making it out on his own while she did not.

Even as I moved away from him, he moved toward me, as if he could not accept this.

I put a hand on his shoulder, and I pushed him away, taking another step back.

It was this time that he let go.

I then bent beside the woman, tugging the curtains from her prone form. I stood again, before Jim, and tucked the material around him.

I looked him in the eye as I did this; they remained pure blue. Indeed, they made me realize just how thirsty I was, making me laugh internally at the absurdity of it. I thought that if I had the propensity to be humoured in a situation such as this (Vulcans do nothave hysterics), we were surely going to die, but the humour did not last as I moved back to the woman and lifted her in my arms. Sharp pain laced my muscles and the more I moved the increasing pain I was in.

I soon began to feel lightheaded: black dots obscured my vision but a broken window was just a few feet before me. Then I was there, and I had dumped her out of the window. I leaned over the edge gulping for air, attempting to avoid the jagged glass of the window.

The emergency services had arrived, and a paramedic rushed forward, dragging the woman away from the building. Then a man's hands were on my arms, pulling me out of the window, but I resisted, bracing myself on the frame.

I croaked, "Jim is behind me."

"There's no time!" the man yelled at me. Indeed, the situation was becoming dire, but I tore myself from his grasp, stumbling backward and into the fire. The heals of my thin shoes was heating to painful intensity, burning me, and I resisted screaming. I could hear the man yelling for me, but the smoke was too thick to see anything of detail anymore. I turned around, stumbling away.

_Where is Jim? Where is Jim? Where is Jim?_

I started towards the back of the building, and I was sure I would die there, sure that Jim would die there, because I was not going to find him, but neither was I going to leave him.

Then, suddenly, I spotted him as I came around a disintegrated. He was doubled over on the floor, coughing and hacking, but he was there.

I took a breath that was caustic. "Jim!" I shouted as loud as I could; he looked up, and then he stood and stumbled toward me. I was... impossibly relieved, and I could not fathom the stress that I had felt leave my body at the sight of him. It was illogical, as we were yet in immanent danger, but, as I gripped his shoulder and pulled him in the direction of the window, I could not believe that I would allow him to die there.

I took the curtains from around Jim's shoulders, threw them over the windowsill, and linked my hands together for him to use as a step up. He did so without delay or further heroics, using my shoulder to balance himself, and, with a foot on the ledge he propelled himself onto the street, collapsing to all fours in shards of broken glass. Then he turned to the window, waiting for me. I put my own foot on the ledge, my shoes adequately protecting me from the glass as I slipped off the windowsill to sidewalk.

I wished to lay there, in the broken glass, to simply breathe, but then there were hands upon my person and I could not resist their emotional arousal when they began to lift me. I opened my eyes to the sight of two medics leaning over me, no doubt a gurney nearby. I gripped the arm of one, a sign to remove their appendages from my person, and forced myself to stand with this support. Their adamant protests were not heeded: I simply could not process further assault upon my faculties. In any case, Jim, too, had found his way to his feet of his own accord; this diminishing the notability of my own uncooperativeness.

They ushered us toward an ambulance at some distance. I found myself sitting next to Jim in the back of it, oxygen masks fixed to our faces, and the paramedics treating our burns which were, thankfully, minor. We observed the building burning, various people approaching us and asking for information in this time.

Jim turned to me the first moment we had to ourselves- the emergency services personnel otherwise occupied- with a serious expression on his face, the likes of which I had never seen on him before.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice somewhat muffled by the oxygen mask and still garbled from the damage his airway had sustained.

I turned away from him, unable to find adequate wording to convey the significance that I had never been so frightened in my life_- _but not for my own- that is, for Jim's life I was frightened.

The sensation of my heart pounding to the point where it seemed viable to arrest; the intense and painful throbbing my body over; the manner in which the darkness had consumed my vision; subsequently, my thoughts losing continuity- as traumatic as these were, they did not matter. They did not need justification. I readily risked my life for his; I would do so again. That, however, does not make his actions acceptable.

I had put him first.

Had he put me first? He risked his life recklessly. I could not forgive him.

Neither could I _not_ forgive him. What he did was, in some fashion, morally correct: that woman would have died if he had not gone in there, and the risk had proved worth it.

Still, he would have died if I had not gone after him- they both would have died if I had not done so.

Is it not, in this light, logical to conclude that I care more for Jim than he cares for me? I wished for him to understand that I knew this: he had put this woman's life before mine because he put her life before _his_.

What is the purpose friendship with Jim if there is no commitment? It will only bring me pain when I do, inevitably, lose him. _What is the purpose? _I asked myself; then I realized: _there cannot be one_. And it would have been prudent to have known this before becoming involved.

"I'm sorry, Spock," Jim said again, leaning forward in an attempt to catch my eye. I stared insistently at the floor of the ambulance.

"...And... And thank you. For saving my life. For saving that lady's life," Jim said.

_For doing what was right,_ was left unsaid. I briefly wondered if he thought less of me for my reservations, but quickly dismissed the concern: I was far to angry to process such a trivial matter of opinion.

"...Do you forgive me?" he asked.

I nodded once after some time.

"...Spock?"

"I am still angry with you," I managed to say this calmly and without meeting his eyes.

"Angry with me?"

He first was confused, and then he nodded

"...I _did _make you risk your life." I watched him lower his head, biting his lip.

I found myself grinding my teeth together, but my emotions were uproarious and my control was in turmoil: "It is not my life that matters!" I exploded.

Jim's head came sharply up, his whole body went rigidly straight; he appeared excessively shocked.

"You- You are a mindless animal!" I thundered, struggling for words accurate and sufficiently insulting. Pulling the oxygen mask from my face, I stood and turned for the open door of the ambulance, pausing in step to yell at him once more.

"Did you not consider the implications of your death?!" As I stepped onto the street and then around the corner of the ambulance, grandmother and grandfather appeared. My cheeks grew warm with embarrassment; I had not believe my misfortune would continue, but this was, of course, a highly illogical assumption.

"Oh! Spock!" grandmother cried, her eyes were already filled with tears. "We were looking for you and we heard your voice and we- oh, never mind that! _Are you okay?!_" She flustered over me, and grandfather clasped a hand on my shoulder.

"Jim?" he prompted.

I glanced toward the back of the ambulance. "I wish to return home," I told them, in the hopes that we might depart without further ado.

"We can go as soon as we see Jim."

As if on cue, he appeared from around the side of the vehicle. Grandmother was at his side in an instant, flustering over him in much the same way, but Jim's eyes were trained on me, and he appeared to be overwhelmed with guilt.

"You stupid boy!" grandmother cried, embracing Jim. "You could have died! Spock could have died! I'm not going to forgive you for this!"

"I know. I'm really sorry Mrs. Greyson," Jim said solemnly, taking grandmother's arms in his hands and pulling them from around his neck. "I need to talk to Spock for a minute, and then you can take him, okay?"

"What about you?"

Jim shook his head. "The police already called Suzanne."

"...Alright." Grandmother nodded, wiping at her eyes as she released Jim, immediately taking grandfather's hand in her own, as if she would collapse without physical contact. Even as they walked away she continuously looked back at us, as if to assure herself that we were truly well; indeed, grandfather did the same several times.

"Spock," Jim said, taking a step toward me; his eyes shone more than usual. "I'm so sorry."

"I am aware of that," I said curtly.

"No- I- It _did _occur to me that you would worry, but it- It still wouldn't change anything. It was the right thing to do. Don't you agree?"

My eyes closed, and I exhaled carefully.

"It is not as simple as that," I said quietly; there was still this unsettled state to attend to. "I am in need of meditation now. I would appreciate continuing this conversation at a later time."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow- breakfast."


	36. I, xxxv

I turned to speak to you

Sunday breakfast came and went without Jim. Instead I sat in silence at the kitchen table with grandmother and grandfather. I had recounted the story regarding the fire to them on the return trip the previous night. Grandmother called mother once we arrived home, as well, and informed her of what transpired. This means that I must contact her today, recount the events, and answer her emotional needs. Moreover, I will have to pretend to be well, which plainly is not so. Despite the night and the morning I spent mediating, I find myself in despair.

Still, I cannot find vigour within myself enough to be angry with grandmother or mother for these demands they place upon me- nor with Jim.

Perhaps the only person I am upset with is myself.

I was resolved, at the conclusion of this morning's meditative sitting, to put all in the past and not without anticipation to relay said conclusion to Jim. However, this anticipation and my foolish eagerness for breakfast quickly festered and became bitter and resentful when he did not arrive.

I am always doing things in a contradictory fashion, am I not? I comprehended the pointlessness of our friendship belatedly, and, when I have forced myself to forget this blunder and accept our relationship for what it is, he is not here; indeed, I allowed myself to become invested, but I am departing soon, and I will not see him again following.

"I am finished," I said, taking my plate to the replicator to de-synthesize.

I consumed less than half of my food, and grandmother asked, "Are you sure?" She frowned at me.

"Quite."

I have returned to my room only to record this entry; I must now speak with mother.


	37. I, xxxvi

But you were gone

I am wondering where Jim is.

He said that he would speak with me on Sunday. Sunday was yesterday, and he never came. Monday is now drawing to a close, and he has not come.

Is he (as I speculated before) angry with me for my reservations regarding our actions despite that I was mistaken in my assessment of the risk involved? Is he behaving defensively for the anger I have shown toward him? Did I irreversibly damage our friendship with the insults I made upon his person despite that I did not mean them? Did I commit some other offence? What other motive could he have for breaking his word to me?

I stated previously I have accepted the knowledge that our friendship is, in essence, pointless, but I do not entirely believe that I have, or I would not be so affected by his absence.

There are many configurations from here, where I now stand, and each with a multitude of angles from which to approach the situation; it is frustrating. I do not have the faculties for this; my emotions do not guide me as they do a human. Instead, this entanglement of logic and illogic render any capacity I have for decision-making null.

There is no question that emotions are necessary in humans as a basis for reason when functioning without logic; and there is no question that emotions are totally unnecessary in Vulcans when functioning with absolute logic.

I am neither of these things, however.

If there was time, would I continue this friendship knowing what negative items lay in store? Would I end our friendship and spare us inevitable disappointment? Since there is, in actuality, no time... Do I tell Jim what I have come to know? Do I let this pass without acknowledgement?

If logic is inapplicable and I cannot understand my own emotional desire with regard to this (the latter demonstrated above), is it enough to act accordingly upon _Jim's_ emotional desire?

The inquiries do not end here, and unfortunately the more consideration I give this matter the more time has passed.


	38. I, xxxvii

Maybe I'm blind

I have not reached any conclusions from the the last entry to this. However, I believe I have accepted that I cannot know the truth, as I stated in the last. With this consideration: tomorrow, if Jim has not yet made an appearance here, I will go to Suzanne and ask after him.

I leave for Vulcan three days hence.


	39. I, xxxviii

I'll be holding all the tickets, and you'll be owning all the fines

I should not have waited to pursue Jim.

It was illogical for me to expend my time in such an idle manner. It continued half of the day until I was genuinely astounded by my state. I wished to know of Jim's status, and there was no reasonable motivation (emotional or otherwise) for me not to have this information, particularly as it was causing me anxiety for it to be unknown. In that moment I turned and walked from my bedroom, from the house, and across to Jim's residence.

The doorbell rung, I considered that I was averse to coming here because I was apprehensive of what could be keeping him, which was made obvious to me by my- accordingly- _mounting_ anxiety.

Then the door opened, Suzanne smiling with obvious displeasure which only increased my weariness.

"Spock... come in."

Suzanne opened the door wider, and I stepped around her into the entryway. It looked as if the house was more outdated than that of my grandparents' with ridiculous pictures hanging on the walls, nick-knacks on every surface, and frilly curtains. Suzanne led me to the kitchen where, on the other side of a large table, was a sliding glass door that lead onto a cracking patio, beyond that the untended garden I had observed earlier from my grandparents' home. Her house was old, but Suzanne did not look old in the least (it seemed as if grandmother and Suzanne could trade places and be better suited to each others' residences); indeed, her hair was saturated brown, her face had few wrinkles, and was dressed in a fitting blouse and skirt. We took a seat at the table, and behind her I could easily regard a photograph of her and her husband on their wedding day; she did not look significantly different from in the picture.

"Would you like something to drink or eat, Spock?"

I shook my head in disinclination, and waited for her to speak. Suzanne fiddled with one of the leaves on the potted indoor plant that served as a centrepiece on her table along with a box of kleenex tissue. I am not certain if it was the welcoming environment of the kitchen or Suzanne's unassuming nature, but I was no longer anxious.

"I guess you're here about Jim?"

I nodded and waited for her to continue.

"I'll just be straightforward with you. Jim has serious behavioural issues. The reason his mother put him in foster care is because he tried killing himself when he was only eight by driving a car off of a cliff. Try to understand how it looked to those of us who know his pattern that he entered into a burning building. And afterward he only became more erratic. I was called to pick him up, but when I got there Jim had gone already, without a trace. I obviously told the police about his situation and got in contact with our social worker. Maybe they would have returned him to me otherwise, but they picked him up underage drinking with a _fake ID_, and at a _bar _no less. Marina, our social worker didn't want to take any chances, and so Jim was sent off to a delinquency rehab centre."

"May I visit him?" I asked after a moment, still assimilating what had been relayed to me. I knew only one thing to be certain without evaluation and that is that, regardless of whether Jim had tried to take his life in the past, it was, unequivocally, not his intention at the fire. I would have known this.

"I don't know." Suzanne frowned. "I'll get you the social worker's number and you can call if you want to."

Suzanne stood and left the table; at the kitchen counter she retrieved a small slip from a stack of paper and a pen with which to write, then went to the communications terminal that hung next to the kitchen door, located the number, and used the wall as a surface to write it down. She then stood in front of me at the table, and slid the paper toward me across its surface. I picked it up and committed the number to memory.

Finally, I looked at her over the paper in my hand. "Thank you," I said, "I will be going now."


	40. I, xxxix

Look away this time

Thursday has come and gone. I debated on Wednesday night after visiting Suzanne whether it was wise to pursue Jim or not. I was again forced to concede that logic has very little relevance to the situation; I then endeavoured to determine what my emotional desire was and had little success in this respect, too. My final consideration was this: I may have regrets failing to pursue Jim, but surely I would not regret pursuing him. Upon this basis I contacted Marina.

However, this was irrelevant, all of this discourse and my efforts. Marina informed me that those admitted to the program are not permitted outside contact until such a privilege is earned; I am astounded by this. It seems a gross abuse of his rights, particularly as I know them to be mistaken in regards to his constitution. Jim is no delinquent.

_Jim is no delinquent. _I should not be angry with him, but I am in some illogical respect: I wish to blame him for the loss I have experienced; though, I recognize it is my fault more than his. It was of my volition to relinquish to Jim's pursuit, to invest and to then extend myself as I have. Indeed, I did not contact Marina upon any direct emotional interest, but it seems that that intention was not enough to shelter my sensibilities.

In fact, it is entirely possible that I regret contacting her, what I had not considered a viable outcome. I do not wish to extrapolate any further upon the matter.

I have, in other regard, finished my project today: the research, the paper, the software. All is done, my trip included.


	41. I, xl

Sullen load is full, slow on the split

I am departing shortly.

I spent this morning in a heavy meditative cycle, and enjoyed an extended lunch with grandmother and grandfather in the early afternoon (though I did not derive pleasure in explaining Jim's situation to them). They thanked me several times for visiting, and I apologized as many times for not visiting sooner, assuring them that I had had both a productive and fulfilling stay. I informed them that should the opportunity arise again, I would certainly return; though, I fear it is misguided to believe that the opportunity will arise again. The completion of this project will conclude the span of my compulsory education on Vulcan; I will be attending the Science Academy at the beginning of the next session, and there will be no leave-taking for the duration of my career at the VSA. It was for this reason I asked them if they would be averse to visiting Vulcan. They did not withhold any of their aversion to the thought of travelling, which they informed me was due to their age.

Yesterday I cleaned and organized this room I have called my own; everything is precisely as I found it, and my belongings are collected in the middle of the floor. As much as I look forward to returning, to be surrounded by my possessions, the familiarity of my home, and the calmness of Vulcan, I do not wish to leave. I am going to miss grandmother and grandfather, my independent studies, breakfasts with Jim, spending time with Jim. It has been long enough for me to settle into life here, and too short a time to have grown unpleasantly accustom to it.

Neither Vulcan nor Earth are expressly suited to my purpose, and I suppose there is nothing between, which is logical for if I ever find this hypothetical _between_, surely it will be perfection.

A/N:

End of Part I; I have not edited beyond this point so there may be some overlaps and some gaps to follow.


	42. II

To never be sullen, never be sad

I am a Star Fleet officer today.

Yesterday I attended- and participated in- the Officers' graduation ceremony and received my documents of accreditation. It was a small graduate class, and the ceremony was held on the lawn outside of the Arbutus Conference Building (as it is September, the weather was was fair). My peers and I, in turn, each received our certificates from Admiral Hughes, each, of course, to be applauded by the company of friends, relatives, and faculty attending as our names were called. I am disappointed my parents could not be among the group, but I am most grateful to Nyota for taking their place in the audience. She will graduate at the end of the next session as an ensign- indeed, it will be her final year of studies (as will it be mine, I recently discovered)- and I gave her my word that I would in turn attend her ceremony.

After the event there was a small celebration held within Arbutus hall, though Nyota could not accompany me to it as her examinations have not yet concluded. At the celebration I had the opportunity to speak with and accept congratulations from several of the admiralty. The event began at noon and finished at fifteen-hundred hours, after which I returned to my dorm room. Mother asked that I call her after the ceremony, and following this I had a meeting with Christopher in his office.

"Spock!" mother greeted when she answered my call. "How did it go?"

"Well." I inclined my head in acknowledgement.

"Look at my son- a Star Fleet officer! I'm so proud of you, Spock," she said; her voice has become strained in her old age, and it was particularly evident then in her enthusiasm, both quiet and cracking.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there. I wanted to be; you know that, right?"

"I do, yes. There is no need to apologize." I did not fail to notice that mother spoke for herself alone; it is not unlikely that father was averse to attending. I believe he, perhaps, harbours some resentment that I declined the Science Academy- and the manner in which I did so. I went so far as to consider apologizing to mother in turn, but I cannot regret joining Star Fleet whether it has or has not caused tension and stress in the dynamics of our family.

She nodded. "So, Spock, do you know what your plans are for next year?"

"I am going to continue to pursue the sciences, but I am unsure as of yet to what end: taking up a research position planet-side, on a colony, or starbase; teaching; or pursuing the command track." I shook my head. "I am uncertain."

As of that time I was uncertain, but I am not any longer.

Mother smiled. "You'll figure it out, sweety." After this we discussed other unimportant things: mother and father's work, Nyota, Christopher and Eunice, and their son. We had not conversed for sometime, and so I was engaged with her until the moment I was to leave.

"I must go now; I have a meeting with Christopher," I told her.

"Oh! Okay, well, call me again, sweety. You never do anymore."

"It is imperative that I do well in my studies, mother, but I will make a concerted effort."

"That's all I can ask." She offered a smile. "Tell Christopher I said hello."

I nodded, we presented each other the ta'al, and then the call was disconnected. I stood, and, glancing out of the window to find that the sky had clouded, I adorned my coat and left my room; I was made to wait some time for the elevator, however, I was able to reduce the delay by walking swiftly across campus, and I arrived at Christopher's office precisely at the appointed time.

As I approached his door, it retracted, and I stepped into the admiral's office. He looked up from where he was bent over his desk, writing on a PADD, and grinned.

"Hey, Spock. Take a seat," he said, waving to one of two chairs situated on the other side of his desk. I approached, removing my coat then, and reached over to place it on the other chair after I had was seated. Chritopher's office is large, and luxurious, a palette of greys, oak wood, and black leather; the large windows, undressed and open to the outside, allow natural light into the room, but Christopher, at this time, had his study lamp on which cast a yellow glow on his desk and the various objects littering its surface. He leaned back in his chair and swivelled to reach into one of his drawers, producing another PADD which he then held out to me. I leaned forward and took it from him, laying it in my lap and waiting for him to speak first, without yet scrolling through it.

Christopher smiled. "So you made officer?"

"Yes," I said, a questioning tone to my voice in lieu of the redundant nature of his inquiry.

"In two years. I'm proud of you. You've done well."

"Under your tutelage and mentorship," I said, nodding and raising my brows.

Christopher laughed. "I take no credit. It was your hard work."

"I would not have had the opportunity if not for you, Christopher. You were the one who advocated my accelerated studies."

"Alright, alright... I should know better than to argue with you."

I inclined my head and Christopher grinned.

"I'm really sorry about not being at the ceremony, Spock," he said then, sobering.

"I understand," I replied, but he shook his head, silencing me.

"Eunice and I were hoping you could come over for dinner tonight, to have our own private celebration."

"That would be agreeable," I said, this time allowing my eyes to curve upwards more fully (I am not certain how much these attempted facial expression truly convey; I believe, though, that it is a necessary element of integrating into Terran society, mastering the physical language of the body).

"Good. We can go as soon as we finish up here. I wanted to talk to you about your plans for next year."

I raised a brow questioningly. "You are already aware of my plans for next year."

"Well, I have an offer to make you," Christopher said, grinning again. "Not this year, but the year following, the _USS Enterprise_ is being launched... under my command."

I felt both my brows, involuntarily, raise at this.

"I want you as my science officer." Here I nearly frowned; as a cadet, fourth class I do not yet have the credential necessary for that position, particularly aboard a constitution class, flagship vessel. Unless I was placed in yet another accelerated program, I would make ensign by next year, and this rank, too, would leave something to be desired in my application for the position.

"I've spoken with a couple of the admiralty and with Starfleet council, and I've had _that_ schedule drawn up for you." He gestured to the PADD in my lap. "You're already taking advanced science courses, so I just took out anything unnecessary like graduate xenolinguistics, and every possible command course has been added. It'll be the most hectic year of your life, but you'll make lieutenant, and that's good enough for my science officer."

I could think of no immediate response, and found myself staring at Christopher, blinking twice and otherwise remaining fixed in my posture.

I had given the command track consideration, and ultimately had been leaning towards professorship, but this offer I could not possibly refuse. The opportunity to work under Admiral Pike is truly an exceptional one.

"Of course I accept. It would be my honor to work with you, Christopher. I thank you_._"

"Slow down, Spock!" Christopher laughed. "You haven't even looked at the schedule yet- you might not like it."

I shook my head, but scrolled through the PADD nevertheless.

"I do not immediately need to look at this," I replied, looking up from the the schedule in my hand. "In fact, there is no need for consideration. I could not possibly refuse your offer."

"Good! I'm glad. Eunice is going to take up her position as my Number One again, and Ryan will be coming on board with us." The Admiral's grin was at its widest. "He'll be in school by then, so we won't have to worry about someone watching over him for at least part of the day, and me and Eunice can always alternate shifts to be with him, and then he'll be able to see _you_ whenever he likes."

I was silent again, still uncertain how to respond with an apropriate degree of enthusiasm.

"It's going to be hell of a lot of fun, I know," Christopher laughed.

"Have you informed Ryan-kam yet?"

"No, of course not! He'd be crying with excitement until launch next year!"

"I suppose that is true," I said with, an very slight lifting of the lips.

Despite Ryan-kam being almost four years of age now, dramatic and petulant behaviour is not beyond him; though, he is largely reserved and clam for a Terran child. I made the observation, and Christopher agreed with me when I brought the matter to his attention. He said that it was most likely in direct correlation to my presence in his life, that I have served as something of a role-model. It had never occurred to me that I had such an influence over him until that time, though I was aware of his partiality almost as soon as it began.

I still fail to comprehend what would attract this child to me. I do not speak in the same melodramatic tones I have observed others adopting in the presence of children, I do not play with him as much as others do, nor do I hesitate to admonish poor behaviour. But then, perhaps it is for precisely those reasons that Ryan-kam has taken to me.

I must admit that I too enjoy his company (particularly his inexhaustible wonderment and his ardor), though nothing is quite as exhausting as entertaining him. I sometimes find myself annoyed or short of temper when I am with Ryan-kam- most especially if I was fatigued prior to the meeting; however, he is a child, and I would not take my frustration out on him because I care for him and, also, when he is happy it in turn pleases me (a remarkable thing, when I consider it closely. Indeed, I often grapple with the idea that I _could not_ harbour any ill-will toward him, as I did not realize that such deep benevolence existed within me).

"He's been asking about you," Christopher said then.

I once again lifted a brow.

"You haven't seen him in awhile."

"I visited only four days ago."

"That's an eternity for him," Christopher replied, smiling. "Well, he'll see you tonight, anyway."

I nodded.

"Shall we go then?" Christopher asked, he was already shuffling papers on his desk, turning off the lamp, and then, "...Should we call Nyota?"

I shook my head. "She is studying presently."

"Alright." Christopher stood, and I followed suit, donning my coat once more, and then reaching my hands up the sleeves to pull down the cuffs of my shirt which had ridden up my forearms (I had worn a traditional Terran suit to the graduation ceremony beneath the robes provided: black pants and jacket, white button up shirt, and tie- and I had adorned my brown wool coat before leaving for Christopher's). I was undoing the top two buttons on my shirt, loosening my tie fractionally- I have seen Terrans do this before, when transitioning from formal to informal settings, and I felt this would be an appropriate time to do so because dinner at the Pikes' was most assuredly not to be a formal affair- when Christopher asked, "How are things between you two?"

"Is there a particular reason you ask?" I countered, though it was in no way defensive.

"No," the admiral replied, shaking his head. "I was just wondering."

"I believe our relationship is in its prime."

"Its prime?" We were exiting the office now, Christopher keying in the locking sequence to the interface beside the door.

"Nyota is available when I require support: she aided my transition to life on Earth, she was a consistent presence when my grandparents passed, she attended my graduation ceremony despite her approaching finals. In addition to all of this, she has altered the progression of our relationship to a pace more suitable to my preference, and she has remained steadfast throughout."

"I know Nyota cares about you. Well- right, but... _you _don't seem very enthusiastic."

I was unsure how to answer this. It is not as if I do not care for Nyota deeply, but I found the comment disconcerting: I knew precisely to what Christopher was referring. At the onset of our relationship I considered that Nyota is an ideal mate, and for the reasons I have listed above, it is logical to be with her, much the way it was logical for my father to be with my mother. Perhaps my affection for her is not passionate in nature; however, I am devoted to her, and I care for her deeply. None of these sentiments seemed appropriate to convey to Christopher, however. I remained silent.

When I did not answer Christopher continued, "She was at-"

He cut himself short of completing his statement.

"She was where?" I prompted.

"It's nothing." He shook his head.

This was dialogue I spent time contemplating later and ultimately came to resent- in particular that I did not press the matter. Perhaps I should have, but it would be against my nature to do so.

We reached Christopher's vehicle, and then traversed half of the distance to his home, which is forty minutes away from the endowment land, in silence, as I was engrossed with the activity of integrating this new perspective with regard to Nyota and our relationship, though the content of that perspective remained relatively unknown (instead, I considered each possible sentiment Christopher could have made, accordingly with their probability; first, that Christopher considers my lack of passion- albeit, by Terran standards- a mark of devaluation, and second, that Nyota had made some complaint to him, and this was the sentiment he had failed to deliver in its entirety outside of his office).

This is, in large, why I enjoy Christopher's company in particular: there exists no pressure to maintain conversation if I become absorbed in my thoughts, as is often my wont to do (Waiting until my next meditative cycle or even until I have a spare moment alone is not always conducive to amalgamating, incorporating, assimilating new concepts or suppositions to my transitory schemata). In essence, I feel I can 'be myself' with the Admiral. Indeed, this is a quality true of all those I am close with now: Christopher, Nyota, Eunice, and Ryan-kam; I grew close to my grandparents before they died, also. I am always honoured for the circle of family and friends I have acquired here on Earth (though now it is now two people less than before). It serves to reinforces my belief that I made the correct decision in joining Star Fleet.

Christopher seemed to sense when I had concluded ruminating; he said, "I met a long ago friend-of-mine's son a few days back."

"I see."

"I was shocked to say the least. We met in a bar. He was getting the shit beat out of him by a couple of cadets."

"Is that so?"

"Mm." Christopher was smiling faintly. "I didn't like what he was doing with is life, so I had a little chat with him."

"I am sure you made a lasting impact."

Christopher burst out laughing. "I sure as hell did. He joined Star Fleet!"

I looked over at Christopher, brows raised. "Did he?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Then it would seem you have taken another student under your wing."

"No one can replace you, Spock." Christopher winked at me before returning his eyes to the road.

"No doubt," I replied dryly, and Christopher chuckled quietly.

The conversation turned once again to our future careers aboard the _Enterprise_, but as the vehicle was parked outside Christopher's home the topic was pointedly dropped, and we noncommittally commentated on the weather as we made our way to the front door.

The Admiral's house is large and as luxurious in its design as his office- all the work of Eunice. The lot which the property sits on is also quite large, with an open expanse of grass in the front and back, with a lining of bushes and other foliage and a wood fence separating it from the neighbouring properties. As the door was opened, I detected the scent of homemade-prepared nutriment, and its aroma was certainly appetizing. There was also a discordance of noise- the television exceedingly loud in the background, Ryan-kam screaming and running and Eunice laughing and chasing (toys were being kicked out of their paths), and the various sounds of culinary operation in the kitchen.

The washroom and stairs are directly to the right, a formal sitting room to the left, while directly down the hallway and on the left the family room can be found, to the right the kitchen. All share the same scheme: rich creams, mahogany woods, and black granite. It is an exceptionally inviting home, with a warm atmosphere- though, this could have to do with the lighting; I believe it is softer and yellow in tone. Also, despite the toys littering the floor- and perhaps this has to do with the simple, large pieces of furniture- it never seems overly untidy. Visiting the Pikes' is an agreeable reprieve from the time I spend in my dorm room, which is modern and clean but also cold and clinical.

Christopher and I were removing our footwear when Ryan-kam ran across the hallway, blanket in hand, Eunice following closely behind. When he caught sight of us at the door he came skidding to a abrupt halt, Eunice grabbing him as she came up behind, bending over him, embracing him to her, and tickling his sides.

"Stop!" Ryan-kam shrieked and laughed; he wriggled in her grip. "Stop! I have to say hello!"

Eunice also began laughing but released him, her brown-red hair falling around her face as she stood straight; her cheeks were flushed from the exercise. Eunice followed as Ryan-kam came to us, attaching herself to Christopher's side as her son wrapped his arms around my legs and further accosted me.

"Live long and prosper," he greeted, his parents conversing in the background, whilst he raised his arms, indicating his desire that I pick him up. I did so, perching him on my hip; when he was eye level with me he said, "You never come, Spock."

Ryan-kam has long since learned to restrain his touches, therefore I do not mind picking him up on occasion, particularly if he is calm as he was at this time. I am strongly opposed to manifesting any telepathic connection with him; I believe that it would be a violation of his privacy and highly inappropriate. I informed Eunice the first time I met her, when she had initially attempted to hand Ryan to me. At the time she had sat him on the counter while her hands were occupied, and continued to proceed in this manner henceforth, which was a suited arrangement. The protocol was to become null with time, however; she again attempted to hand him to me one month later, and I began to express my concerns once again; this time she insisted she trusted me and my ability to prevent exposure.

Indeed, there has been very little transference any of the occasions Ryan-kam and I have been in contact, however, I remain concerned that Ryan-kam may grow attached to the sensation of it (the ability to communicate telepathically with another is vastly underrated in Terran culture, which is logical as Humans do not have psionic abilities), or it is possible that his psychological development might somehow be altered by my mental impression. In addition, it has been my reoccurring thought that excess transference might be the source of his partiality toward me, but Christopher and Eunice are quite sure it is a natural preference; unfortunately, I do not subscribe to their unscientific reasoning.

"However, I am here now," I replied. His hair- the same colour as his mother's- was falling into his eyes, and his round cheeks, too, glowed red. He shook his head.

"No, I am not here?" I applied for clarification.

Ryan shook his head once more.

"That is illogical, Ryan-kam."

He began laughing and wriggling in my arms, and this prompted me to set him back on the ground; then he was running back to the family room. I observed this, and then I turned to his mother.

"'Nice to see you again, Spock, honey. How was the ceremony?"

"It ran its duration agreeably."

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

"There is no need to apologize."

"I feel really bad, though."

"Do not." I gave her a reassuring smile, though it was, of course, exceedingly small ; we made our way into the kitchen. She enquired after Nyota's whereabouts then, and I informed her that she was preoccupied, glancing at the various dishes as Eunice resumed preparation of the meal.

I had seated myself at the island which divides the kitchen from the family room, but Ryan-kam soon called me. I turned atop the stool to see him attempting to climb the entertainment unit- the shelving next to the television to be more precise.

"Remove yourself from the cabinetry," I commanded in a distinguished voice. Ryan-kam did so immediately, though I doubt he grasped the precise purport of my words; I presume he is capable of discerning my meaning merely from the tone of my voice which is my motivation for deliberating my inflection with more care when speaking to him than with others. "What do you require?" I asked.

"My book."

He pointed at one of the higher shelves. I stood, and walked over, examining the books on the shelf.

"You may hurt yourself or damage the furniture," I said, though preoccupied.

Ryan-kam did not seem to hear me regardless; he had placed a hand on my leg and was watching as I ran my digits over the spines of the books, scanning for the title, _Sora makes a friend_, as he directed me upon my approach. I soon retrieved the aforementioned book from the shelf and handed it to him.

"Will you read it?" he asked taking it in his child-sized hands.

"Affirmative," I replied, moving to the sofa. Ryan-kam situated himself beside me, tucking himself into my side. He handed me the book once he concluded adjustments to his position and was comfortable.

"Lower volume on TV by halfway," Ryan-kam ordered, and the computer rung in acknowledgement.

The television then quieted, and I flipped the book open, disregarding the picture on the cover. There was print on the first page and a picture opposite which I again disregarded, Ryan-kam smiling immediately as I began to read.

"'Sora could never make any friends, so one day one day he got into his space ship and set a course for Kronos. Maybe he could find a friend there. Sora was happy when he got to Kronos. Someone hailed him, and he put them on the view screen... There was a Klingon. Sora showed him the ta'al-"

I stopped abruptly, observing the picture on the bottom half of the page. There was a cartoon picture of a green boy with winged brows and pointed ears sitting at the helm of an anonymous space craft.

Ryan-kam pointed to the cartoon and declared, "That's Spock!"

I looked at Ryan-kam, and back at the book. "That is not me."

"Yes, it is!"

"I have never traveled to Klingon in search of a friend."

"Yeah."

"Negative."

"Yeah."

"Negative."

"But mom said so."

I did not understand why Eunice would say such a thing, but I did not wish to undermine her. "Indeed."

"'Told you."

I began to read again after this.

"'What do you want?' the Klingon demanded. Sora thought the Klingon was being mean, but he smiled anyway.

"'I'm looking for a friend,' said Sora.

"'There is no one here who wants to be friends with you,' the Klingon smiled. Sora felt bad. The Klingon started to laugh, and Sora started to cry. Then another ship came, and he hailed Sora and the Klingon. There was a Human."

"That's me," Ryan-kam said, wholly absorbed in the story.

"'Why are you making him cry?' he asked.

"'Because it's fun!' answered the Klingon.

"'Leave him alone,' the boy said.

"'Why should I?' the Klingon asked.

"'Because... he's my friend!' the boy yelled. The Klingon glared at the Human boy, but then he deactivated his view screen and left.

"'Thank you,' Sora said.

"The Human boy nodded and smiled. 'I'm Johnny,' he said.

"'I'm Sora,' Sora said. 'Will you really be my friend?'

"'Sure,' answered Johnny, 'But you know, Sora, friendship just happens!'"

I scrutinized the picture of Sora and Johnny holding hands and smiling on the last page. It is likely the worst piece of literature I have read.

"Can we read it again?" Ryan-kam asked.

"No."

Ryan-kam did not answer.

Eunice eventually called Ryan-kam to eat, and whilst he was occupied I browsed the channels on the television, settling on a science journal until Christopher joined me. When Ryan-kam finished eating, Eunice brought him into the family room, and sitting him on the couch, changed the channel to one more of his liking. Christopher, Eunice, and I then moved to the kitchen, opting to eat at the island instead of the dining table.

I took the opportunity during dinner to ask after the book Ryan-kam and I had read.

"What prompted you to purchase that book?" I enquired, gesturing to the book on the coffee table in the other room.

"What? _Sora Makes a Friend_?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I didn't pick it out," she told me, "Ryan saw the Vulcan boy on the front and asked me if he could have it."

"And why did you tell him that Sora and I are one and the same?"

"Tell him you're Sora? I never said that."

I blinked, then glanced at Ryan-kam still watching television in the family room. "I see."

"He really loves you," Eunice said, and Christopher nodded in agreement.

"I am aware." They often inform me of this.

After dinner Eunice called Ryan-kam into the kitchen, and I put him in my lap. She- after clearing away our dishes, and bringing plates, forks, and a knife to the table- went to the fridge and brought to the island a homemade custard cake, the shape of a Vulcan profile complete with pointed ears, strawberries for hair (traditional cut), blueberries for eyes, and a semi-circle of candles protruding from the lower half of the head to form a smiling mouth; the cake extended to just below the Vulcan's shoulders where a strawberry had been cut into the shape of the Star Fleet insignia communication badge.

I looked at it in surprise, and then I felt my lips twitch involuntarily upward. While Eunice was lighting the candles, and Christopher was fetching plates and utensils, Ryan-kam was watching me, his own smile growing in conjunction with my own.

"Spock likes it!" Ryan-kam announced, and the elder Pikes both glanced at me.

"Thank you," I said to Eunice as she slid the cake across the counter for me to blow out the candles as per Terran tradition, which I did, not without Ryan-kam's aid. Then I cut the cake, and we each consumed a slice (we each consumed two slices, in fact). I stayed late into the evening, first assisting Eunice in cleaning the kitchen while Christopher took Ryan-kam for a bath, and then I put him into bed at eight o'clock after playing again for a duration of time.

When I came downstairs Christopher and Eunice were on the sofa in the family room watching television. I joined them and Eunice expressed her excitement for the launch of the _Enterprise,_ Christopher and I concurring. I left an hour following this; while they asked me to remain, I had had a sufficiently active day... I informed them I was in need of a meditative cycle (which I am, though I have now spent the better part of the night journaling), Eunice going so far as to suggest I meditate _there_, but they relinquished when I insisted, and once I had made a promise to visit again very soon.

It was a short walk to the nearest transit station. Also, the shuttles onto campus are nearly empty in the late evening; the journey home was, therefore, sufficiently relaxing.


	43. II, i

We've never been so close to be so far

Today was... marked among other days.

It is December sixth today; it has been well over two months since I last wrote; as beneficial as I find the process of journaling my thoughts and so forth, I have very little time to do so. My schedule is every bit as frenetic as Christopher suggested it would be. My science and mathematics courses rely heavily on assignments and self-study, with short lectures (and extended labs in science, as well); my command courses give my schedule the most bulk, however, as the lectures and tutorials are scheduled every day of the week for lengthy periods. Between the two I have sparse free time. I rarely meet with Nyota, and Ryan-kam even less frequently than her. I made a point of clearing my schedule the day of his birthday, which was yesterday: December fifth.

I allotted time for an excursion to purchase him a present, and I asked Nyota to accompany me, and she agreed (Nyota was very enthusiastic when I told her about my post-Academy plans, and she is hoping to receive a post aboard the _Enterprise_ as well. I assured her I would give Christopher my good opinion of her candidacy, but she seemed displeased by the idea and insisted I not say anything. Regardless, I am quite positive she will receive post aboard the _Enterprise_; I offered to speak to Christopher largely as a means to set her mind at ease).

As well as purchasing a birthday gift for Ryan-Kam, I considered it prudent to purchase Christmas gifts for my friends, for whom celebrating Christmas is the norm; the year prior I was unexpectedly presented with gifts and had nothing to give in turn. I had long since ordered a bracelet from Vulcan as Nyota's Christmas gift, and, at the same time that I had ordered the bracelet, I also ordered a copper-coloured chain for Ryan-Kam. What remained to be purchased was a gift for Gyla, Christopher and Eunice, and Ryan-Kam's birthday gift. Nyota duly informed me that she had purchased a gift for Gyla, and it would be given from both of us. She also suggested to me purchasing a bottle of fine wine for Christopher and Eunice, which was thereafter done. Then, after wandering a department toy store, we came to the outdoor section where a variety of trampolines were hung on the wall. Nyota was enthusiastic about the idea of gifting one to Ryan-Kam, and so I contacted Eunice to confirm with her that the gift was acceptable; beyond the point that it was _too much_ she had no objections; the order was duly arranged. The trampoline was to arrive the morning of the fifth; Nyota and I made plans to arrive early at the Pike's. This left only the bracelet and necklace for me to wrap, Nyota taking responsibility for the rest which was extremely fortunate, because, while my own gift-wrapping is sufficient, Nyota's presentation is nothing less than extravagant.

I awoke early, meditated for a time, I attended to my hygienic needs, and then I dressed. It would not be a formal event, but I could not wear exercise clothing, and neither would my uniform do; once more I had to appreciate Nyota. Nearly the entirety of my first year at Starfleet I had no dress outside of the aforementioned categories, and increasingly often did I find myself in a dilemma concerning my attire, particularly as I was visiting grandmother and grandfather frequently, then visiting the Pikes, and accompanying Nyota out, as well. She proposed that she take me shopping and acquaint me with Terran styles of dress, and I agreed. My clothing certainly distinguished me in society, and I had long since concluded that if I was to live on Earth efficiently, I should attempt to integrate. Whereas socially and culturally I had little choice and it occurred rather naturally, integrating fashion-wise was something I had to consciously pursue; Nyota provided that opportunity. We went shopping and bought a wide variety of clothing: pants ranging from fitted denim to light brown trousers, and half sleeve shirts of various colours and fits, to button-up shirts, and sweaters, and cardigans, even two hooded sweat-shirts; she helped me select different shoes: sandals for summer, several different coloured loafers, and even a pair of _sneakers_; she also helped me select my two coats: the brown wool one, and the black leather jacket, and my scarfs, and hat- or _toque_- and gloves.

It was thus, standing in front of my closet, I did not hesitate for lack of choice but for _too much _choice.

I selected for the day a pair fitted denim jeans, a white t-shirt with a outline of the ta'al on it (while I had felt the half sleeve shirt to be a poor attempt at humour, Nyota had insisted I purchase it, and I may have, over time, come to favour it), and my dark blue cardigan. My outer apparel consisted of black loafers, my wool coat, and a matching dark grey knit scarf and hat; I was careful to tuck my ears into the latter. Glancing in the mirror, I could see the amusement in my own eyes: with the hat especially I did not look Vulcan in the least.

I put the small wrapped box which contained the chain for Ryan-kam in my pocket, and then made my way to Nyota's dorm (she is located in an adjacent building). When I arrived, Nyota pecked my lips, and then resumed making haste about her apartment, clothing from her and Gaila's open wardrobes littering the floor.

Gaila was still in bed, curled on her side under her covers with very little more than a mop of bright red hair to distinguish her, but she watched, blinking, as Nyota moved around searching for various items, and at me as I stood in the doorway.

"Hi, Spock," she said in a sleepy voice after a moment had elapsed.

"Good morning," I inclined my head.

"You look nice today," she said. The blanket came over her shoulder and covered the lower portion of her face, but I could discern that she was smiling.

"Thank you." I inclined my head again, and as I have made it a rule to reciprocate- not only gifts, but compliments as well- I said, "You're hair appears very fine today." Gaila began to laugh.

"Gail, have you seen my other boot?" Nyota asked.

"No, sorry," Gaila replied, her attention now back on Nyota as she lifted clothing and threw it back down.

Eventually she was able to locate the missing garment, calling out, "Found it!" before pausing to pull it on. She wore a purple top and dark jeans, both legs now clad in knee-high boots. Pulling some of her hair over her shoulder, she said, "Let me just grab my coat." Once this was done, she slipped her hand into mine and then pulled me toward the door.

"Bye, Gaila!"

"Bye, Nyota. Bye, Spock," Gaila called as we left; I quite like Gaila (though I am impervious to her pheromones, she has appealing qualities, including that she is self-assured and has a refreshing attitude).

The transit was relatively active, which was to be expected Saturday morning, but I did not mind, and Nyota did not seem to either. We arrived at the Pikes' at eight-thity AM, Ryan-kam already bathed and dressed, and Eunice beginning breakfast in the kitchen. Nyota and I were first greeted by Ryan-kam, both of us wishing him a happy birthday and embracing him. Then we removed our outerwear, putting our coats, gloves, et cetera into the shoe closet, Nyota leaving to help Eunice in the kitchen; when Ryan-kam and I were left in the entryway, I handed to him the small box which contained my gift, and he immediately began to open it, clutching the closed box once it was unwrapped.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed.

"You have not opened it yet," I observed. He did not seem to understand that the box was not the gift, so I took it from him and removed the necklace. Ryan-kam stilled, looking carefully at the necklace in my hands. "This is a chain I purchased for you from Vulcan. You are not obligated to wear it if you do not wish to."

"I can wear it?" he looked at me.

"Yes, if you wish to." His face seemed to light up. "Would you like me to put it on you?"

"Yeah," he replied, nodding, taking a step back as I crouched in front of him. I fastened the chain around his neck and then gave him a small smile.

"Thank you," he said again, quickly embracing me again and then he quickly disappearing. I made my way to the family room where Christopher was tidying Ryan-kam's toys.

"Hey, Spock," he greeted when I entered; I inclined my head.

"Where'd Ryan go?"

"I presume to employ a mirror," I replied, taking a seat on the couch.

"To employ a mirror?" Christopher gave me a puzzled look.

"I gifted him a chain from Vulcan- an advanced Christmas gift; the trampoline is from both me and Nyota, and it is for his birthday."

"Spock!" Christopher cried, "The trampoline wasn't enough?"

I shook my head.

"You're spoiling him, you know that right?"

"I will refrain from purchasing such gifts in the future."

Christopher smiled. "I think a chain wasn't a good idea, Spock," he said. "Ryan will just break it."

"It is made of durable Vulcan ore."

"Well then...!"

At this point, Ryan-kam came running into the family room, calling, "Dad! Dad!"

Christopher turned. "What is it?" he asked, his eyes coming directly to the chain that Ryan-kam was pointing at. "That's very nice, isn't it? Did you thank Spock?"

"Yeah," Ryan-kam nodded, but he climbed onto the couch beside me, tucking into my side as he is his wont. There was a program on the television which he then became absorbed in, but often he would ask me something or inform me some other item. Soon breakfast was ready, and we joined the rest of the family at the kitchen table. Breakfast was concluded at quarter to ten, and the trampoline arrived at ten, highly punctual. While Nyota and I helped Eunice in cleaning the kitchen and preparing food for the party, Christopher put on his coat, as did Ryan-kam, and the two went outside to supervise the set up- or rather, Christopher supervised the setup; Ryan-kam was experiencing acute excitement and could not contain himself- yelling, running, and jumping on the couches inside, having led to his removal from the house.

He came back in at eleven AM, first thanking me and Nyota, and then asking me to join him outside as the trampoline's assembly had been completed. I adorned my shoes, coat, hat and scarf and followed him out. We utilized on the trampoline for a time, and then I sat, watching as he continued to play.

At quarter-to-twelve I informed Ryan-kam it was time to return indoors.

Abruptly and without warning, he ran towards me and embraced me, his arms wrapped around my neck and his cheek pressed to my own.

In an instant we were connected, and I was receiving happiness and love in bounds and Ryan-kam my own pleasure that he was happy. There was surprise, too, though, and then I was closing my mind to him, pulling away. When I had him standing in front of me, I looked him in the eye and asked, "Did you intend to do that?"

Ryan-kam only looked at me, unable to comprehend.

"Did you... want to... feel that?" I attempted to use more common terms.

Ryan-kam shrugged.

"Did you know that would happen?"

"No," Ryan-kam looked down.

I felt the beginnings of a frown upon my brow.

"Sorry," he said; his thick eyelashes were fanned against the contour of his rounded, reddened cheeks.

"There is no need to apologize," I said, smiling slightly and then releasing him, "but do not do it again."

Ryan-kam frowned now, unbidden. "Is it bad?"

"...Yes," I answered.

Ryan-kam shrugged again, suddenly beaming once more. "Thank you for my presents," he said.

"You are welcome," I replied, and then I stood, picking Ryan-kam up; it was nearly noon, and noon was when the party was to begin.

Inside, I removed our outerwear again, and walking into the kitchen found a bowl of punch set out, along with a plate of vegetables and dip, and a plate of crackers, cheese, and assorted synthetic meat. Eunice was standing at the stove conversing with Nyota as she mixed a bowl of pasta salad; on the counter there were hotdogs thawing along side a bag of chips, and baked and seasoned vegetables cooling on the stove top. Christopher had blown up balloons and decorated while we were outside, but was now playing with Ryan-kam. I sat at the island and joined Nyota and Eunice in their conversation about the latest version of the universal translator; soon the doorbell rang, however, and Christopher and Ryan-kam went to answer it.

I could hear Ryan-kam enthusiastically greeting the first arrival, a child and her mother; next a lone child arrived, apparently from the house next door; then a father and daughter, the daughter older than Ryan-kam. All of them put their presents in the living room before moving to the kitchen and family room.

I greeted both the parents with the ta'al, and they, while surprised, presented it to me as well, despite their apparent difficulty; in fact, the father, Brad, struggled enough to make necessary the use his other hand to assist the first, though he laughed in good nature. Brad provided diverting conversation; I learned that he is an engineer, and we discussed his work and my own pursuits until the next group arrived. It was siblings: a young girl and boy perhaps a year older than Ryan-kam; they were accompanied by both their parents, the father, a man by the name of Randy, joining me and Brad as we talked.

Throughout the conversation I found myself glancing at Nyota: she and Christopher were playing with the children, her face was lit up, and she seemed happier than I had seen her in a considerable amount of time; though, I did not realize that she had been behaving subdued until this moment.

Brad noted my observation of her and enquired after our relationship. "Are you two a couple?" he asked.

"We are," I nodded.

"For how long?" Randy, this time, posed the question.

The door bell rang again immediately following his enquiry, and Christopher and Ryan-kam again separated from their group to receive the guest.

"Approximately one year," I said.

"Oh," Randy nodded, "Do you find it difficult being with a human?"

"No, I do not," I replied, rotating the glass in my hand; I searched my mind for some ostensible reason with which I to extricate myself from the situation, and looking down at the glass in my hand, I was duly prompted. "If you will excuse me, I must use the facilities."

I walked from the group, making brief eye contact with Nyota as I moved toward the hallway; she smiled up at me, and I nodded in turn, but I my attention was soon caught by the new arrival. A young man was crouched and embracing Ryan-kam, his head bent so that I could not see his face, and Ryan-kam was was laughing at whatever the man was speaking into his ear.

I raised a brow as I approached, stopping before the trio.

"Spock!" Christopher called ahppily, and I reflexively turned to look at him; when I glanced back the man was staring at me in shock, and he was straightening slowly, Ryan-kam forgotten.

I blinked several times, held in place by stunned- and likewise stunning- aqueous blue eyes.

"This is the long-ago friend's son I was telling you about," Christopher said. I could feel Ryan-kam attaching to my leg, but I was remained staring at the new arrival.

"This is Jim Kirk. Jim this is Spock- a friend of the family's."

_This is Jim Kirk-_

Jim seemed to recover first, shifting and blinking inexplicably, and scratching the back of his head. "Yeah... we've met," he told the Admiral.

"Have you?" Christopher asked, his voice laden with surprise.

"Yes," I answered.

"Small world," Christopher muttered, puzzled and looking back and forth between Jim and I as we appraised one another; I could hear the confusion in his voice, but the knowledge seemed secondary to my then-present observations.

...Jim has grown taller, and has filled out, his muscles developed; his face has also lost some of it's boyishness, though he was clean shaven, and his hair was messy and sticking out in several places. He was dressed in a dark grey sweater, with a brown leather jacket on top, black scarf around his neck, and fitted dark wash jeans. He still had his shoes on: a pair of heavy-duty black boots, next to which sat a wrapped gift. His cheeks were attractively flushed from the cold outside, and I could see his blatant curiosity as he looked me over, an unruly half smile curving his lips as he took in my half-sleeve shirt. When his eyes raised to mine there was interest there and a small measure of reservation as well. I was prepared to raise a brow, but Ryan-kam interrupted the exchange.

"Jim, Spock got me this necklace for me." He held the chain out for Jim to examine. Jim seemed to notice for the first time the accessory adorning my leg; his brows lifted once again as he took in Ryan-kam, one arm hooked around my leg, his entire side pressed against me. He noted the necklace then and grinned.

"That's a really nice chain," Jim said, his voice remarkably similar to how I recalled it. He was... entirely familiar in every sense, particularly the manner in which he smiled.

"Ryan's been telling everyone," Christopher laughingly said in an aside to me, which I dismissed.

"And Spock and Nyota got me a trampoline," Ryan-kam continued.

"Did they?" Jim's eyes seemed comfortably fixed upon me which caused no small amount of discomfort on my part. In fact, it caused me to turn away, to look down at Ryan-Kam, the familiar sensation of being seen through having come back to me.

"Yeah. Dad said we can jump on it after lunch. Do you wanna jump on the trampoline with me?"

"Sure," Jim answered.

Ryan-kam then looked up me. "Will you come play with us now, Spock?"

"I will join you soon." I nodded absentminded agreement. Ryan-kam then detached himself from my leg and returned to the family room and his group of friends, which left Christopher, Jim, and me in the hallway.

"How do you know each other?" Christopher asked, taking Jim's present and placing it with the others.

"Spock's grandparents were my neighbours," Jim replied; he seemed to have no qualms about openly scrutinizing me, only to my increasing discomfit.

"You knew Robert and Bertha?" Christopher questioned, "You've both been at Star Fleet for months now and never met? All this time I've been seeing you and seeing Spock. Jim, I even mentioned you to Spock; I just didn't give him your name. What are the chances?"

"Quite small," I supplied, taking a swig of punch. Jim was stripping off his jacket, and pulling his feet from his boots; he had apparently been here enough times that he felt comfortable enough to place his things in the shoe closet without prompting.

"You seem close with Ryan," Jim commented, looking at me over his shoulder from his position at the closet.

"Yes, I am," I answered, turning to face him partially; though I felt it intrinsically imprudent to do so, I then asked, "And you?"

"Am I close with Ryan?" he rephrased, and when I nodded, "I've only been over a couple of times."

"I see."

"Shall we?" Christopher interrupted, placing a hand on either one of our shoulders, guiding us back toward the main group. Jim's presence not two feet from my side was palpable and almost heated. As we entered the common area attention was drawn to us, but Jim's preoccupation with me seemed to be diverted to another: Nyota.

"Uhura," Jim said; I felt my eyes narrow marginally.

"Kirk..." Nyota said in a distressed tone; she glanced at me, but her eyes quickly sidled away.

"You know the Pikes,' too?" Jim asked.

Nyota nodded.

Jim glanced at Christopher, whose uneasy countenance I now took note of. Jim then looked at me, with a confused expression.

"Nyota and I are in a relationship," I supplied, guessing after the source of his confusion. Jim's eyes widened for a third time, his jaw slackening in tandem, perhaps around unspoken words. Christopher and Nyota both shifted uneasily in my peripheral vision.

"...Christopher," I spoke after a moment, turning from Jim to face the Admiral. "If I may have a word with you in the other room."

Christopher's jaw clenched, and he gave me a sharp nod. I followed him into the living room, silencing descending between us while I grappled with the sequence of my thoughts.

"Your odd behaviour... There is an instance come to my mind which seems particularly relevant in my attempt to comprehend you..." I started, "What was it you wished to tell me about Nyota on the day of my graduation? You began but then chose not to speak."

"I think you should talk to Nyota," Christopher responded immediately.

"I wish for unbiased, unaffected truth. I do not believe Nyota is prepared to be honest with me at this time. I would also... appreciate your council."

"Sounds like you already know what I'm going to say."

"Then you should not hesitate to speak honestly with me," I replied easily.

Christopher continued to vascillate.

"..I believe I do know what you have to say," I assured him. "I simply require affirmation."

Christopher sighed heavily and placed his hands on his hips. "If you remember, I told you I found Jim in a bar getting the daylights beat out of him? Well, it was a couple of cadets- Hendorff, Reyes, and Perlman- that did it, and they did it because he was with Nyota, who they knew to be in a relationship- with you. I think they assumed Jim was forceful with her- but, Spock, Jim wouldn't do that. Maybe Nyota was intoxicated. I don't really know."

Much of the conversation with Christopher that day began to take on new meaning, and I found myself perched on one sofa, evaluating.

"I don't think Jim is to blame at all," Christopher provided.

"I am in agreement." I nodded. "It is my fault."

"Your fault?" Christopher questioned; I could hear the surprise and frustration in his voice, though I was not looking at him, and did not know what his expression was.

"Yes." I nodded. "I believe you were attempting to communicate earlier, that my feelings for Nyota, while genuine and of pure intention, were simply insufficient. At the time I thought you were mistaken, but I see now that you were not. Nyota mayhaveloved me, but perhaps not our relationship."

"No, Spock." Christopher sat across from me on the edge of the coffee table. "Even if that were the case, Nyota should have said something. She should have been honest with you if she was dissatisfied."

I shook my head. "I believe Nyota remained silent to spare me. And while I knew she was dissatisfied, I allowed our relationship to continue. I should not have."

Christopher was quiet for a moment. "...You've got it all wrong, Spock." He shook his head once more.

"What is it you desire of me?" I asked, feeling suddenly furious, though I was only as such with myself, and the inflection of my voice, my expression, and so forth remained unaltered by my emotions. "Do you wish for me to blame Nyota?"

"I just don't want you to blame yourself."

"There is none other to blame. Nyota has not damaged me at all with her actions which only further reinforces the notion that I did not invest into our relationship as much as I claimed. I am angry- no, not angry- disappointed with myself for allowing this to happen, as I should be, Christopher."

"Christ, Spock, that's so twisted."

"How?" I petitioned with force. I felt extremely foolish, and likely _appeared_ foolish, but even with the heat building in my face, I knew that I was adopting an increasingly stoic expression.

"You did care for her. You _do _care for her. It's obvious you care- you care about what she did- or you wouldn't be angry. Anger is just a defence."

I felt a keen desire to laugh; it was simply absurd.

"I am not so weak or cowardly as that, Christopher."

"It doesn't make you weak or a coward!"

"...I require time to reflect in solitude. Would it be unacceptable for me to excuse myself from the party for a time?"

"Not at all, Spock," Christopher said after a pause, frowning with deep thought, presumably searching his mind for anything else he need say to me before I departed.

I nodded and we sat in silence for another period of time, and then I stood without announcment, Christopher standing also. I went to the closet and adorned my outwear, Christopher opening the door for me.

"I will be back soon," I said.

"Take your time," was Christopher's reply. I inclined my head and then was walking away from the house.


	44. II, ii

Pour a little salt, we were never here

I spent the duration of my walk debating whether Nyota or I was to blame for what had happened (though I ultimately reached no different conclusion than I already had); I also considered if I had, in fact, somehow remained detached from our relationship or if I was simply refusing to allow myself to experience the pain of Nyota's betrayal as Christopher had suggested.

Indeed, I was quite settled that the incident was my fault and not Nyota's, simply because Nyota has never been so vindictive or careless, and I easily could have been misdirected in my ignorance. Of course we were both at fault in some manner- I could not deny that, either; but (and this is more or less what Christopher and I had been referencing surely) the _majority_ of the blame was my own to bare.

As to the other matter, a part of me was inclined to agree with Christopher in that I was denying my experience, and this was on the basis that I did- _do-_ care for Nyota and also on the basis that I hadfelt angry for however brief a time.

In summation, however, I believe that if I place my trust in another and they betray me, I am to blame for my initial poor judgement; I can empathize with Christopher, though: if I observed this very situation affecting another, I would be inclined to think of the party being betrayed as the victim- indeed, the blamelessvictim. In my own life, perhaps I simply have a need for a strong sense of autonomy and therefore responsibility (no matter what consequences that responsibility brings). It is my choice.

Yet another part of me was inclined to believe that I hadsomehow remained detached on the basis that I seemed to have no- or very little- emotional response to what had occurred: neither pain nor anger (except with myself for that brief instance back at the Pikes.' This was, to me, a negligible anger, in which case Christopher had overestimated its significance and was mistaken in his interpretation).

I was more firmly resolved in my inclination towards the latter of the above two rationales once I considered the additional item that I have been consciously, purposefully remaining distant from those around me... This was not something I was recognizing at the present moment, but something I had long since been aware of (since I had watched Jim enter a burning building years ago, since we had separated, and since the death of my grandparents, in fact). Though, I question whether it is possible to be truly detached with every other aspect of my relationships in good order- in other terms: what is the nature of detachment when one carries on as if they are capable and desirous to form healthy attachments?

It once occurred to me that, fundamentally, trust is overvalued and underestimated.

One should only give trust and loyalty at their own discretion, being fully aware of and prepared for the consequences because it is _entirely_ probable that that trust- the investment characterized by caring for another- will be broken or otherwise defeated. However, how can one be aware of and prepared for the consequences unless one has already experienced betrayal or any other form of disappointment? And if one has already experienced disappointment how can one possibly put oneself at risk again? Yet, have I not put myself at risk on multiple occasions?

This is not the first time I have posed the question: what is the purpose? (It befits me to make note here that I have a great deal more to say on this topic now than the last time I addressed it, but the matter presently at hand is more pressing.)

I had reached my resolve: the majority of the blame rested with me- not for my ignorance, but for my inability to trust others and to commit to forming and maintaining healthy relationships- and that this must be the cause of Nyota's dissatisfaction.

I turned and began my way back toward the house, my mind also turning toward the house- or rather, what was awaiting me inside. I would need to speak with Nyota briefly to affirm for her what Christopher had told me if he had not already done so, and to verify that we would converse in depth at a later time; I would also have to apologize to Christopher for involving him in a difficult situation and for suddenly and unexpectedly leaving the party; Jim also needed to be addressed.

A bar fight abruptly removed him from my life and likewise had brought him back into it. I considered asking him for clarification on what had occurred- I considered it but then quickly decided against it. I did not wish to reinstate our relationship, and in fact, despite my lack of clarity regarding one's ability to be genuinely detached, I had resolved to make it my endeavour to be indifferent- to whatever degree I might accomplish for whatever protective factor it may provide.

Perhaps, it occurred to me, I had not socially, culturally integrated at all. Now that I was positive of where I stood on the matter involving Nyota and Jim- now that I had taken a concrete stance in the Terran game that is the unproductive, constant fabrication and subsequent dismantling of relationships (mainly that I do not wish to participate at all)- I had to consider my methodology for disentangling myself without drawing attention to my actions and especially their underlying motivation.

When I arrived back at the house, I let myself in, replacing my coat, et cetera in the shoe closet, and then went into the kitchen. The group was taking lunch by this point, and my self-awareness was duly heightened as all attention turned toward me. The adults were gathered around the island with the exception of Jim who had opted to sit with the children at the kitchen table, a few of them requiring a booster seat to reach the plates before them- each holding sliced hotdogs and chips; the adults, I observed, had plates of baked vegetables and pasta salad with their hotdogs.

"Spock," Eunice called, setting down her fork. She moved to the cupboard and withdrew a plate for me. "Let's get you some food... I made these tofu dogs for you," she said, lifting a lid from a pan on the stove, "and you can have some vegetables, and some salad, and some chips, too, if you like."

"Thank you," I said, topping my plate with the sustenance I required before taking it to the island. There were not enough stools, so Christopher, Eunice, and I stood. I could feel Nyota and Christopher directing furtive glances at me whenever the opportunity arose, though they were not entirely furtive. Jim's looks, though fewer and far between, were not half so inconspicuous (if it was indeed possible to be any less covert than Christopher and Nyota, that is); I did not mind this as I felt it justified my own espies of him. He had one leg drawn to his chest, leaning forward on it as it were, his sleeves rolled up, a hotdog in one hand and glass of water in the other. He seemed to be very much enjoying the conversation passing among the group of children, laughing loudly at irregular intervals. I found humour emerging from amidst my reservation.

When lunch was concluded, an ice-cream cake was brought forth and while it had chocolate included in its construct, I thought it to be to be an acceptable ratio granted I did not overeat. I had a single large slice; there was very little effect on my cognitive functioning, though I enjoyed myself a great deal after cake.

Present-opening was the next event, and Ryan-kam was particularly enthusiastic. None of the gifts were extravagant; they consisted mostly of small things: books, toys, puzzles, clothing. After the presents were open, Ryan-kam made known a desire to review them with me individually and one-on-one. Christopher, Nyota, and Jim all remained behind in the living room as well, while the other adults moved back to the kitchen area.

"And this one, Spock." I kneeled beside the fireplace, nearly at eye-level with the children, and watched as Ryan-kam came to stand in front of me once more, a book grasped in his hand. "Stephanie got me this book." He looked at it, then looked up at me. "See the picture?"

"Yes," I said; there were several Terran mammalian life forms illustrated on the cover below the heading, _Jungle Fun_. "It am sure it is a fascinating piece of literature," I said dryly. Ryan-kam seemed satisfied with this. He handed the book to me, and went back to the children playing with his gifted items, purportedly looking for something he had not yet shown me. While I waited I notied Jim watching me from his place amongst the children; an expression of merriment on his face, presumably at Ryan-kam's antics, who, I now noticed had found the next present, taking a small toy car directly from a girl's hands. Ryan-kam made his way back over to me.

"And this, Spock," he said, stopping and holding the car up to me, observing me from beneath his lashes after he had concluded his own examination of it. "From Dylan. I like it."

"It is agreeable." I nodded.

Ryan-kam turned then, and began searching for the next item to present to me, Jim now laughing out right.

"Ryan," Christopher said, putting his hand on Ryan-Kam's head as he rounded the sofa upon which Christopher was seated. "Do you want to play with your friends on the trampoline, now?"

Ryan-kam did not pay attention, ducking below Christopher's hand.

"Ryan," Christopher called again and was once more ignored.

I glanced at Christopher, and he shook his head and gestured in defeat. "I guess not!" he said, "I just figured we should get them out and burn off some of this energy."

Indeed, looking at the group it was apparent they were overwhelmingly energetic, screaming and moving about. They were akin to a melee of Klingons, I thought in inebriated amusement. Taking sympathy on Christopher, I intervened.

"Ryan-kam." He instantly turned his attention to me, a small number of the other children glancing at me and away in tandem.

"Children," I said in a slightly louder, firm voice; now they unanimously stopped and turned to observe me, even those playing with Nyota and Jim, their voices fading. "You will now quietly retrieve your coats and shoes and bring them to the front door where Christopher, Nyota, Jim, and I will assist you in their application."

"That's Spock," Ryan-kam whispered to his direct left..

I assume it is his predilection toward me that inclines him to respect me, and that his open regard is what served to influence the other children to behave likewise, with an added degree of interest. They watched me with curious eyes as I moved to the shoe closet, retracted the door, and standing to the side looked expectantly at them. Ryan-kam came first, and then the rest followed, silent save for the sound of footsteps and the rustle of clothing as they collected their items and adjoined to the area in front of the door. I retrieved my own coat and shoes and dressed quickly, then moved to help Christopher, Nyota, and Jim in assisting the children. When all were standing at the ready, the adults adorned their own outerwear; I took the opportunity to give further instruction to the children, having already dressed.

"We will be moving outdoors now. You will follow me in an orderly fashion around the side of the house to the trampoline." There was a collective increase in excitement, the children fidgeting and glancing at one another.

"You are to control yourselves," I demanded with a firm voice, and they did so, the lot of them fighting to remain unsmiling. I then, accordingly, opened the front door and walked around the house to the trampoline, the children following behind me. When we arrived I lifted them one at a time onto the trampoline, placing them first on the edge, and then withdrawing the net. Each of them began to shriek and laugh as they commenced their activity. Then the others appeared behind me, Christopher with a blow-up ball in hand.

"What was that?" Christopher asked.

"To what do you refer?"

"I mean, how the hell did you do that?" Christopher gestured toward the children.

"I simply adopted a commanding tone of voice."

"I think it was more than that," Christopher said.

"If my countenance does not account for the phenomenon, then I may only speculate."

"...Well, whatever it was, I'm sure it can't be taught."

I raised a brow and turned to observe the children.

"I am returning indoors," I said, pivoting where I stood, which allowed me a glance at Nyota and Jim standing on the other side of Christopher, though it was not my desire to meet eyes with either of them.

"Well, I guess I can handle things here," Christopher thew the ball up and caught it again, giving me a smile as I walked away. I was nearly to the front door when Nyota called after me.

"Spock!" She stepped up beside me. "We need to talk."

"Indeed."

Once inside we adjoined to the living room, Nyota taking a seat on the sofa, while I took up a position at the fireplace, hands clasped behind my back.

"I wish to terminate our relationship," I began.

"What!" Nyota cried, "Spock, you haven't heard my side of it yet!"

"I do not need to. Regardless of your motives or, indeed, if it was unintended, I wish to terminate our relationship. I cannot commit to you, and you are not happy."

"But we can work it out, Spock. I'll be more unhappy without you."

"I do not believe that."

Nyota's fists, I noted, clenched around the edge of the sofa. "It was a complete mistake- I was drinking! I swear I want to be with you, Spock!"

I inhaled and exhaled slowly.

Nyota continued, "I care for you, and I know you care for me. And we're a good couple- a logical couple!"

"Nyota-"

"Please give me another chance." Nyota's lips turned down and quivered precariously now. "Please."

I moved to crouch in front of her, taking her hands in mine and looking her in the eye. I took in her pain, and I considered allowing her access to mine in turn, but my own was not isolated and I had no desire to allow her unneeded insight.

"I do care for you, immensely-"

I experienced almost overwhelming grief as the first tear slipped down Nyota's cheek, her eyes closing and her face lowering.

Unexpectedly, I realized that I could not leave her so hurt. It took only a moment to reassess; after evaluating the situation, my decision was to withdraw in a gradual manner.

"I require time," I said, Nyota's face coming up, her expression one of deep surprise.

"Spock?" she asked shakily.

"I require time, and I cannot guarantee that our relationship will be mended-" Nyota cut me off as she pressed her lips against mine, her hands pulling out of mine to rest on either side of my face. Her gratitude and her relief overcame me rather suddenly; indeed, her emotions were so strong my own were diminished in comparison.

Long after Nyota had released me and left the living room, I remained.


	45. II, iii

It was a faded mirror

I shifted myself from the ground to the sofa, and I sat, for a time, rigid in my posture. Then rather abruptly I found myself leaning back into the cushions, my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands resting one on top of the other upon my stomach; I allowed myself to become absorbed in obscure thought, and was only interrupted once by Eunice.

"Nyota told me you were in here," she said. "I thought I'd bring you something some water." She gestured to the glass she was carrying, moving to place it on the coffee table, but I extended my hand, and she passed it directly to me instead.

"Thank you," I told Eunice.

"Of course." She seemed to hesitate, her mouth opening and closing with an obvious desire to say more, but ultimately she thought better of it, and, with a slightly forceful exhale, she simply turned and left. I rested the glass on my stomach, supporting it within the cup of my two hands.

I resumed my rumination after this, gazing absently out of the window now, rather than at the opposite sofa as I had been. The window looked directly onto the front lawn, and there was particular evidence ofthe cold weather on this day; the sky contained thick, grey clouds, and the air seemed dark with mist, both which contributed to a bleak affect- greatly at odds with the cheer of the party.

It was a considerable amount of time later when a figure entered the scope of the bay window. In the time it took for my eyes to focus- which was delayed in lieu of my preoccupation- they could have passed. Instead, the figure had stopped, and was looking back in at me.

It was Jim.

I suddenly was drawing parallels between this time and my childhood: Jim looking in my grandparents' kitchen window from the porch. His eyes were still impossibly blue, and he was not smiling now, either. Indeed, I expected his mouth to conceive the words _Spock, come out,_ but that did not occur. Instead he disappeared from the window, and was the next instant, entering through the front door.

He pulled off his boots and jacket, slinging the latter over the armrest of sofa opposite, and took a seat across from me.

"Hey, Spock." He seemed uncomfortable, sitting straight, cautiously watching me as I watched him in turn.

"Jim," I greeted with a slight nod.

"Listen... I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened with Nyota."

_That is what you feel you should apologize for?_

"The fault is not yours to warrant apologizing; you were not aware of our relationship."

The logic of my words did not extend to my emotional state: indeed, I wasangry with him for what he had done, though it was just as likely residual anger from our summer together. In any regard, his apology had only increased my agitation.

"I know," Jim said, looking downward, to the left, "but I still feel bad."

I raised a single brow and drew a calming breath.

"Are you quite sure your involvement with Nyota is the root of your discontent?" I petitioned; I know not where this boldness came from, but I will attempt to explain it.

There was first and foremost my state of mind. After the initial emotional upset I had experienced, I then felt bereft which engendered my irritability; this in turn caused me to act with some level of abandon- and perhaps the chocolate I had consumed contributed to this.

There was, also, a degree familiarity between the two of us. The state of affairs upon our separation years ago has, of course, altered with time; I am certain Jim, neither, would attempt to claim that the parties involved (our relationship, either of us as individuals, and so forth) have not been restyled. And yet- though, I had not seen him in years- the Jim before me was the same Jim that I had played chess with, discussed computer science with, spoke intimately with. Indeed, this was a Jim I felt I knew (that is not to say I wanted- or want- a relationship with him; I was, still, despite succumbing to Nyota, resolved in my disinclination to potentially compromise myself for any Terran- fickle and often misled as they are).

Jim cleared his throat.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean to say that we parted on rather unsatisfactory grounds four years ago, and it was of your volition. Is the need to apologize for that not more pressing?"

"Er- yeah," he said, scratching the back of his head. He stood from the sofa then, putting one hand on his hip and gesturing with the other as he paced toward the fireplace. "I'm sorry about that, too."

I watched him with disinterested eyes, processing his words and formulating responses with greater speed than usual and with a curious sense of accuracy; it was akin to already having comprehended this situation, having experienced it, and I knowing of each permutation. I suppose it is true, though, that the first year after our separation I thought, in overabundance, of what had happened with Jim; I had even contemplated on more than one occasion the unlikely possibility that we should meet again, though I always acknowledged the illogicality, the unlikelihood of it.

"So you maintain that your guilt over disrupting my and Nyota's relationship has no ulterior context?"

"Yes, I maintain that."

"Foolish." I tilted my head to a degree which I thought would effectively convey my relative superiority and his inferiority.

Jim turned abruptly around to face me, gaping.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"You aren't the same person." He shook his head, and then he seemed to come to some obvious enlightenment. "How much cake did you eat?"

"Not enough to explain what it is that has seen you so shocked," I replied, though internally I found myself wondering if Jim's implication- that I was significantly intoxicated- had merit.

He looked at me disbelieving. After and extended pause, "Well, I am. I'm really sorry."

Jim fidgeted, and I returned my gaze to the window. I could discern him, in my peripheral vision, turning on the spot, examining the room; I also observed when his movements came suddenly to a halt.

"How- How are they?" Jim asked. I looked over at him to find he had lifted my grandparents' picture from the fireplace mantel, one of them with Eunice and Ryan-Kam.

"They died last year," I said.

I suddenly was short of patience, realizing that Jim should have been present for my grandparents' passing. Now he wished to minimize the matter.Where was his apology for this?

I stood from the sofa, placing my forgotten glass absentmindedly on the coffee table, and turned to leave the living room.

"Spock?" Jim sounded taken aback, so I waited, looking to him.

"I- I-" Jim stuttered, looking shocked still.

I raised a brow in enquiry, and when he remained incapable of communication, I took my leave of him.


	46. II, iv

We are meant to fade away

When I returned to the kitchen I found the adults paired off once again: the women at the dining table, the men in the family room. I went to where Eunice was wiping down the counters in the kitchen, stacking dishes beside the sink, and asked her what I could do to assist her.

She responded, "Oh no, Spock! You don't have to help clean up. Just relax, okay? Enjoy yourself."

I believe she was concerned in lieu of my earlier behaviour, concerned for my well-being.

"Not at all, Eunice. You have been labouring the better part of the day; I believe it is your turn to relax."

"Spock, really," she gave me a pointed look, intended, I presume, to convey how ludicrous my proposition was, meaning to deter me.

"I would like to occupy myself, in a solitary manner," I attempted. Perhaps, if she was showing such concern for what had occurred with Nyota and Jim, she would be willing to relent to my wishes as they concerned those events. What I told her was no lie; I was sincere in my desire to avoid further confrontation.

Eunice gave me a long look, and then she relinquished her dish cloth to me to take up her task of wiping the counters.

"Alright," she said, her hand resting on my arm briefly as she went to the dining table.

It was simple work- though it kept my mind from returning to those thoughts which I did not wish to dwell on- and, while it was somewhat unpleasant I felt some accomplishment with the completion of each task. I replaced all food items to their designated areas and moved the remaining food to other appropriate areas (transferring leftovers from their preparation dishes to storage containers for instance); I also loaded the dishwasher and washed the pots and pans, though I was interrupted whilst loading the dishwasher.

I felt another presence in the kitchen and turned to see Jim leaning on the island behind me. He extended towards me the glass of water Eunice had brought to me in the living room.

"Thank you," I said, extending a hand lathered in soap, my sleeves rolled up. I could see Jim was suppressing a smile as he handed off the glass to me, and I felt my own lips press together in lasting disapproval- and anger. I chose to ignore this negativity (and therefore Jim) and simply resume my task. Jim was quiet for sometime, though he maintained his position.

"Aren't you gonna give me a chance to explain?" he asked.

"What remains to be explained?" Part of me wished to confront him, but a greater part still desired for this uncomfortable situation to simply dissipate.

"Everything!"

"If there is, indeed, something remaining to be explained then I do not want to be informed of it, no," I confirmed.

"...Why?" Jim's tone was inscrutable: it was hard, but somewhat hurt, and yet measurably angry simultaneously. Perhaps indignant is the word which describes the tone most accurately.

"It would not change anything."

"It would change everything," I glanced backward to find Jim shaking his head, now frowning.

"On the contrary. Even if you retained the ability to explain your actions, I would still not wish to resume a relationship with you."

Jim was silent behind me. I proceeded loading the dishwasher, at once anxious to turn back once more. I did so eventually, though by that time I believe Jim had had sufficient time to assume control of his facial expression. Still I could see his emotions roiling tumultuously beneath the surface.

"Is there a reason- a reason _other_ than myactions- which I _can_ explain?"

Again, I turned back to the sink; his eyes had become uncomfortably intense. I noted both accusation and injustice in them.

"Nothing which can be specified," I replied. I rinsed my hands and forearms in the running water, then turned off the tap, and dried my appendages.

"I don't believe that, anyway, but, no."

"No?"

"No, I don't accept."

"You cannot simply accept or not accept. We do not have a relationship, and we will not have one henceforth," I replied sharply, turning to Jim. He was already walking away. I was taken aback and appalled in equal measure, though I was exerting great effort not to be. I leaned over to lift the dishwasher door, using unnecessary force when tapping the control pad to start the wash cycle (However, I doubt anyone would have attuned to this as the outward display of frustration that it was, with the exception of perhaps Jim).

It was only after this that I was able to commence washing the pots and pans, baking sheets, et cetera. During this time I reflected on my conversation with Jim in an increasingly pragmatic and rational manner, though my reflection was repeatedly interrupted as families began to depart. I said my goodbyes as they left the kitchen to all except Jim when he took leave, and Nyota when she did, as well. Soon myself and the Pikes were all that remained of the party. Christopher had Ryan-kam cleaned up his toys- both new and old- while Eunice set the vacuum to cleaning the floors and remedied what else remained in discord, collecting wrapping paper and boxes, popping balloons, and so forth.

Ryan-kam was the first to finish, coming to the kitchen to relate the finer details of his party to me, and I finished soon after, lifting him up to sit on the island; I assumed a seated position on one of the bar stools. Then Eunice joined us, and soon after Christopher did, as well, easily joining in the banter.

Ryan-kam, throughout our conversation, yawned, but it was simply too late for him to be taken for a nap. Eunice told him that he would be going to sleep at early that night, which Ryan-kam protested heavily.

It was already five-thirty by this time, and Eunice had made her way around the island, preparing a simple stir fry for dinner, so I opted to stay and put Ryan-kam to bed, as he would be taking a bath at seven o'clock, in another one and one half hours.

After I put Ryan-kam to bed, reading him one of the books he had received for his birthday, I rejoined Christopher and Eunice in the family room. They immediately began to question me about Nyota and Jim, and I explained in the simplest terms what had passed amongst us and the state of our relationship, though I had no desire to speak on the subject. I was merely waiting for an opportunity to take my leave.

At eight-thirty I informed Christopher and Eunice that I had much to do the following day and needed to return to my apartment to meditate. They did not argue my departure this time, though Eunice expressed a desire to see me again.

Christopher took seeing me to the door as chance to a gain a private word. "Spock, I'm really sorry for not telling you about Nyota before," he said solemnly. I was unsure of, at the time, my stance on the matter. I was not sure what the appropriate course of action was in such a situation, and so I could not judge Christopher. Indeed, when I considered what I would have done should I have seen Eunice with another man, I was for a moment confounded. Would I tell Christopher or not? I have thought about it at length, and I have realized that I would not confront Christopher so easily, but I would confront Eunice, and if she did not confess to Christopher, I believe that I would. Therefore I perhaps was, indeed, betrayed by Christopher, and I perhaps should have been more distressed, but I could not bring myself to be. I have already established that I am quite done committing to relationships of this kind. It is as if everywhere I look I am facing disappointment. There is very little point in feeling wronged, however; it is much more prudent- logical- to simply sever those ties.

"You need not be" I replied, slipping into my coat. "It was, no doubt, a difficult position to be in."

"Still, my loyalties are with you, and I shouldn't have hesitated. I don't know why I did."

I was unsure what to say, and so I simply responded, "I understand."

"I won't forget it again," Christopher assured me.

I nodded. "That is all that I can ask," I said, though, in actuality, his word and my confidence in him were by this time wholly irrelevant. Then I opened the door.

"Goodnight, Christopher. Thank you."

"Bye, Spock."


	47. II, v

Come on skinny love, just last the year

Frustrating: there is no way to more accurately describe this.

Had I known I would be met with this resistance from the people I have become familiar with in my life on Earth, perhaps I would have considered differently taking the actions I did and have- and this encompasses those actions that extend beyond the simple act of engaging in these relationships: my actions in withdrawing, to speak with some precision. In fact, it is, primarily, my withdrawal that I wish to address, and some related but unexpected revelations.

I will begin with the obvious: my own attachment is not of any importance. Any difficulty- feelings of isolation- I experience are easily acknowledged and suppressed by way of the Surakian method. Of course I am aware it is not so simple for humans, and yet I do not entirely understand what in their- Nyota's, Jim's, and the Pikes'- minds inclines them to such entitlement, such as to force their way into my life, to demand my attention and companionship. Admittedly, I give nothing in return for their harassment; general conversation is met by silence, inquiries are met with monosyllabic answers- and I do not believe any of them to be so socially backward as to misinterpret my meaning.

Indeed, I believe my wishes are being pointedly dismissed- by all parties. Christopher seems incapable of acknowledging the change in our relationship; Nyota is persistent in her attempts at the reparation of it; _Jim_ at least had said to expect as much from him at Ryan's birthday party, and so I have not been _blindly_ accosted by him- although, I suppose at the time it did not register with me fully the implications of his declaration, both out of my emotional distraction at the time and also because I readily struggle to interpret this type of social intentionality with accuracy.

I have been perpetually frustrated by social affairs for such a considerable amount of time I find myself actively considering solutions- means to extract myself wholly from this situation- as if I was not already taking such action (that is to say, my mind is forever occupied by these thoughts, and it is becoming greatly irritating that I mentally cycle through the same instances repeatedly throughout any given day).

And, so- because it has now become apparent that it is not only the maintenance of relationships that causes them to cost more than they are worth- that is, inflation also occurs in the _termination_ of said relationships as there is a great deal more difficulty than ease or relief in the process, as I am discovering- my previous assertion stating that I should never have taken up these relationships to begin with is confirmed.

One could argue it null to even consider these things as I am not- nor will I ever be- able to change what has occurred already, but I did, indeed, glean something from my excessive examination: _I cannot bring myself to wish for the bulk of what has occurred be any different than it is- nor can I regret it_ _the majority of it._

This is a simple enough conflict, clarified in the following...

I have presumed to establish that the expenditure in forming, maintaining, and terminating a relationship outweighs the value of it- the value found and carried in the relationship for its duration in whatever form it may take: social support, enlightenment, entertainment, material gain, and so on.

The pertinent information within is that the relationship _itself_ cannot be regretted because this is the most gainful, valuable aspect of it; the _conception_ of the relationship can only truly be regretted. In other words, I cannot regret the relationship itself (the bulk, the majority), only the conception of it.

This is something I came to realize sometime ago (in pertaining to the purpose of relationships a few entries prior; in fact, the first time I called into question the prudence of relationships was following the fire that Jim and I were involved in- of course, not to this depth). It is a sentiment which has upheld its own integrity through my rumination in the interim. It is odd being aware that I would not alter any actions if I was capable even whilst knowing it is utterly contradictory to what rationality dictates for the very reasons I have just addressed_:_ I may very well regret the formation of my relationships, but I also gained from them (enlightenment) such that I cannot say I regret any difficulty, loss, or pain that I have suffered.

But, why,_ when the detriment outweighs the benefit,_ can I say with certainty that I would not trade my difficult social interactions for none at all if it bore- deficit included- no enlightenment, no suffering whatsoever? Is this because I care?

Do I care for them more than- and despite- the turmoil they have caused me?

Is this logical?

While I would not seek to alter the greater part of my history, with the clarity hindsight affords me, I realize it would have been far more prudent to proceed extracting myself from these present social obligations I carry without the declaration of doing such (this I can assuredly say I regret as it has produced avoidable difficulty and discomfort that lingers even now).

_Is it possible that had I made better choices the detriment would _not _outweigh the benefit?_

I know, for instance, it would have been far more prudent to proceed with discrete intention with Jim and Nyota. Granted in Nyota's case I had no choice but to declare myself given the nature of our relationship. Having made that last statement I must acknowledge that I do not understand what compelled me- and still does compel me- to be so open with Jim. If I had not been direct with Nyota and Jim I may have spared enough suffering on my part to rationally conclude that I gained more than I lost at the point of termination, but that is not the current state of affairs, and I may only speculate.

As a result of my blunder- that is, being direct- Jim has pursued me tirelessly these past few weeks. He adopts a facade of being unaffected and determined, and yet I see in him glimpses of a frustration that rivals my own.

And what is this rivalry?

Is it truly rivalry?

Can rivalry be a legitimate cause for this kind of preoccupation?

What makes him so secure despite every rejection that I will eventually succumb?

What is it that draws him to me and vice versa (though I am not so slave to my inclination as he is to his own) that compels me to be injudiciously forthcoming with him?

I am confused, and I believe Jim has the answers that I seek (could this in itself be the answer to my last posed question: that I desire answers- _resolve_- and this is the nature of our attraction?). I wish to query him on the subjects aforementioned, but I know that I cannot: if I query him in earnest I believe that would constitute succumbing to him; if not the question itself, then his answer would cause my submission- though, submission does not entirely convey the keenly distinct impression I have of _surrendering _to him.

Indeed, I have even gone so far as to consider why this would be an issue, allowing Jim to instruct me, and I am quite certain the sense of foreboding the idea procures in me is rooted in distrust... I distrust that Jim is truly concerned with my well-being; even if he is, I would maintain distrust that he can guarantee something similar to the happenings of our summer together would not recur. I am yet again forced into the conclusion that there is a monumental improvidence in allowing relationships to develop with those of an unstable nature- humans in general- as it becomes plain that I would be putting myself at risk for what appears to be very little in exchange.

I am, it should be noted, fully aware that the above may strike one as being convoluted, however, while those convictions are all based upon deep-seated emotions (emotions that one could nearly consider as being hypothetical given how far removed they are for one such as myself), there is a plain logical thread to it.

Indeed, this understanding I have developed is, I like to think, the pinnacle of logical-emotion.

Lastly, it is worth noting that this accomplishment I have achieved in the application of logic to emotion, to relationships, et cetera, is by no means an easy feat to pursue. In fact, the process of applying logic to the illogical is a painstaking and lengthy process which is full of uncertainties even once a conclusion has been reached; it is, therefore, that I find operating under said conclusions- or simply with a keener general awareness- has significantly less impact than I had originally expected upon my conduct and intention. Henceforth I will provide an example of how precisely the awareness that Jim may or may not hold my well-being to any great standard (essentially with the awareness that I do not know his intentions toward me) results in little or no extra precaution on my part as I become increasingly involved with him.

On Tuesdays from two o'clock to six o'clock, as is the norm, I conduct a Vulcan study group of sorts for Starfleet cadets; it is simple volunteer work, provides me with extra credits, and as I am now pursuing the command track it is an asset to my resume. Approximately ten to twenty students arrive every session currently. Since last year the group has been steadily growing as word of it is passed amongst the cadets; in fact, it is true that many students from unrelated classes often come to apply to me for assistance in various fields such as computer science, physics, and mathematics. It began a relatively small study group of two to three people each week, one of the veteran members being Nyota herself (this was in actuality the manner through which we became close. Nyota, however, required little assistance in her Vulcan studies- indeed, once we had taken up a romantic relationship she informed me that she attended simply to spend time with me. Often Nyota would tutor students in xenolinguistics- a field she verily excells in, which I alluded to before- whilst I tutored in the remaining subjects- that is, once the group had grown disproportionately large of course). This year I have not advertised the group at all, and while there are still regular attendees, there are many drop-ins, some of which I do not recognize, and sometimes to form a group of over thirty students, even (though I am not expected to instruct each one of them individually... The larger the group the stronger the consensus seems to be that students will aid fellow students where they can). The conclusion is that knowledge of this endeavour of mine is still actively circulating campus and gaining publication.

I briefly considered discontinuing the study group this year, however, there was much protest from my regular students: Patrick, Hestia, Rachael, and Cameron in particular; it is undoubtably true that their grades have improved through participation. I also was dissuaded from this decision because I knew that the difficulty Nyota and I had in finding time for one another was at least partially averted; I had a means of meeting with her at least once a week, whether or not this meeting could be considered a standard Terran 'date' which Nyota often expressed her desire for in the time we spent together before Ryan-kam's birthday and the revelations I had, which applies no longer.

To the point, it was also by campus word of mouth, I presume, that Jim heard of this group, and it also served as the medium through which he and I found ourselves in each other's company once more.

At first he made as if he were seeking help with his school work, but it quickly became apparent that help was not needed. I was prompted to look over his work several times: papers on ethical obligations, or individual paragraphs explaining the use of our various codes of conduct, research on the cultural norms and customs of other species. It was of exemplary quality, all of it. I do not know how he accomplished the seamless transition from student to mentor; he did so without any others questioning him; soon he was assisting myself and Nyota and the other upperclassmen in tutoring the first and second year students.

I remained introverted as much as was viable for me to do. I endeavoured to keep any and all conversation directed toward academic pursuits. Nyota accepted this well enough, and did no more than regularly fix her gave upon me- what I discovered to be unexpectedly discomfiting. Jim often walked with me after meetings to my dorm room or the to the location of what other commitment might follow. I admit that a few times we remained walking or studying in the library when the interaction was not necessary, however, Jim's conversation left no room for interruption. (I am well aware that that may be perceived as an excuse. I do believe, though, that I remained decidedly unavailable throughout the majority of it.)

The evening we dined together, he approached me after the other students had disassembled; I was returning my belongings to my satchel when Jim picked up my remaining textbook from the table, and held it just beyond the extent of my grasp. I raised a brow, first looking at the textbook, then at Jim's face. He grinned.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat, Spock?"

I hesitated, and of course, Jim did not miss the opportunity.

"You're gonna have to eat anyway."

I admit that somewhere in my mind the thought occurred that he was unlikely take no for an answer, and also that I was in need of my textbook. I began to rationalize, that eating in Jim's company did not mean I had to talk extensively with him, nor did it indicate Jim's 'winning.' I reminded myself that I was in control of the situation, and yet- where it should have prompted a refusal- I instead found I was more secure in my acceptance of his invitation.

I nodded curtly and held out my hand for my book. He handed to me, a subtle look of knowing in his eyes. He has remained both a disarming and an unnerving individual, and I have have been unfortunate enough to incur his attention yet again.

We walked to a nearby restaurant, Jim requesting a seat on the patio, though it was rather cold outside; there were tall heaters placed throughout the dining area, however, and there was a green fabric awning above the deck. Small, white outdoor lights ran along the hem of the awning. It was, overall, a pleasant atmosphere, but the patio was not heavily populated.

Jim engaged me in trivial conversation until the a member of the wait staff arrived, but he was clearly growing short with me. His questioning and commentary became clipped like my own, and his expression became somewhat dark. When the waiter approached, however, his bright facade was easily assimilated, and he smiled at the young lady charmingly; she seemed to linger a bit longer than was entirely necessary, but Jim seemed to pay her no mind as she appraised him. Instead Jim was intent upon me in a manner that can only be described as a smouldering. Indeed, it was unnerving (which, as stated above, is characteristic of him); at that instant, however- longing for a means to vex him- I recognized it is anger- his anger- which puts me at ease.

I still do not comprehend what about anger is so much more comfortable than the alternatives. A lack of vulnerability? However, from a logical stand point, one emotion is no more exposing than the next, and if one is, then surely it would be anger, for anger is an indication of pain and hurt and, therefore, of deep vulnerability and also of hiding ones intention which does, indeed, belittle oneself. There is no logical need for anger, that is, if one has the means to protect and defend themselves, such that one is not taken advantage of.

It was apparent from Jim's intensity that his thoughts had taken a more serious turn.

"...I'm sorry about your grandparents, Spock." He allowed his expression to morph into a thing of passive remorse when he spoke.

I readjusted my hands uncomfortably, beneath the table where they were placed in my lap. He had spoken so nonchalantly, that I had to suppose he didn't understand the weight of his words, or my meaning from Ryan-kam's birthday. I parted my lips but was not yet prepared with a response.

"I'm sorry they're gone," he said, "and I'm really fucking sorry I wasn't there." He shook his head, looking down, his eyes extinguishing abruptly beneath his lowered lashes.

"I accept your apology," I said. It was perhaps one of the lengthiest sentences I had spoken thus far, yet it was what I was most uncertain of. I was uncertain what Jim's apology changed, if anything.

"Will you tell me about it? I mean, only if you want to," he said, looking up with a hopeful expression.

"What information do you desire?"

"When did you come back? When did they... die? How did they die?" he petitioned.

"I applied to Starfleet shortly after arriving on Vulcan, and I accepted my offer of admission after I was accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy. I returned to Earth for the start of my first term at Starfleet Academy approximately two years ago. This will be my third year of education, but I am in advanced placement like yourself; I am virtually in my sixth year, earning the rank of lieutenant.

"Grandfather lost his footing while he was on the stairs during the end of my first year, and due to the severe trauma of the fall he passed away before grandmother was aware. I spent the summer with her, but she did not recover from his death and passed in her sleep, the first week of my second year." I surveyed the other customers at their tables briefly, before turning back to Jim.

"Oh god..." he breathed. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there, Spock."

I lifted and dropped a brow. "It would not have changed anything had you been."

"Well-" Jim stopped himself short. He looked down, and I could see his brow was creasing. "I have to ask... Did they wonder or worry about me?"

I contemplated my answer, knowing that I could greatly upset or pacify Jim depending on how I chose to speak. I had no desire to misconstrue the truth, however; in an effort to remain completely objective I provided him an answer I could see myself recording in this journal.

"Of course. You were a grandson to them no different than I." Jim recoiled. "However, they were happy. Grandfather and I worked on the Pontiac together, I assisted grandmother in landscaping, and Nyota and the Pikes often joined me for Sunday breakfast."

"Fuck," Jim breathed under his breath. After a moment, his gaze steadfast upon the surface of the table, he took one deep breath; in this span of time- in what was no less than a fascinating display- he seemed to simply remove his emotions from his working conscious. When he looked up at me he was, once more, intent and serious and without any outward signs of distress. Resting his chin in his hand, he propped his elbow on the cast iron table and leaned toward me. "Why'd you come back, Spock?"

I detected the temperature in my cheeks elevating, and while I doubted that Jim could see them darkening in the dim light (as they tend to darken only marginally), judging by the blank look of his eyes, I had no doubt that he was scrutinizing my expression.

"Pardon me?" I responded as if I required clarification, however, I had not misunderstood his meaning.

"Why did you decide to join Starfleet?"

"Vulcan's have a highly collectivistic culture. I decided to join Starfleet when I arrived at the conclusion that it was beneficial to the whole of my family to join Starfleet."

Jim smirked, and I experienced a most peculiar, brief but overwhelming physical sickness.

"I'm not sure what reason you have to withhold the truth, but that sure as hell was not it."

"That was only one instance of reasoning among many," I explained.

"Such as?" Jim sat back, crossing his arms. He watched me expectantly.

"My curiosity was piqued regarding Earth and Humankind."

"Mm-hm."

"Also, I have always had an interest in space exploration."

"So you did decide to join Starfleet for selfish reasons?"

I stared at Jim, trying to express annoyance without exercising my facial muscles; he seemed to perceive it if his widening smile was of any indication. "What is your belief with regards to my joining Starfleet?" A foolish proposition.

"Because you missed me," Jim immediately rejoined, and, though I could not be certain, I thought he must mean it in jest. My temperature was again rising, therefore, I advantageously took a sip of water, obscuring the majority of my face from view.

"I'm joking, Spock!" This statement sounded even more insincere than the first.

"Indeed?"

There was a pause. Just as Jim was about to speak, the server arrived bearing a platter with our meals. She placed them before us with a wide smile, inquired if there was anything more we required, and then- regretfully- retreated.

Jim was momentarily distracted as he assembled his hamburger, and I prodded my pasta, mixing the sauce to a more desirable distribution throughout the plated noodles.

After he had closed his mouth around his first bite, chewed, and swallowed with a telling sound in the back of his throat- one of satisfaction- he stopped and held his burger in front of him, regarding it. He asked me, "Don't you have any questions for me?"

"Questions?" My mouth closed around the noodle speared on the end of my fork.

Jim's eyes sidled past his burger to me. "Where I was? Why I wasn't there? What I was doing?"

"Yes, I suppose," I said, taking another noodle into my mouth.

"If you don't want to hear it just say so. I know before you were pretty mad about it, so-"

"Jim, if you wish to tell me, I will listen." I may have held my curiosity at bay until that moment, but now I no longer could.

"_No_, it isn't about what I want. I was the one who did you wrong, so you need to tell me what you want." Jim took another large bite of his hamburger, a sixth of it per bite. He gripped it with both hands, and the juices and sauces ran down his appendages. Fortuitously, he had had the foresight to roll up his uniform sleeves. I have never seen an adult eat in such a repulsive manner- in fact, if it were not repulsive it might even be considered endearing.

I only hesitated a moment longer before conceding: "I wish to know."

Jim nodded and smiled.

"Well, I was arrested way back then, which you know. Suzanne told me you-" his voice abruptly deflated. "Never mind... Uh, anyway, when I got out they made me go to this rehab-counselling-program thing, and before I completed it, my birthday passed, and I was of legal age, so I couldn't go back to Suzanne's. I went by your grandparents' house- and I know this is no excuse- but I fucking hate goodbyes. I stood outside for like an hour before I left. After that, I ended up in the boondocks- the ship yard- and it was never convenient to go back- or so I told myself. Honestly, after what'd happened I was embarrassed to show my face, and... I never figured they would be gone so soon." Then, adopting an emphatic tone, he said: "I swear, Spock, I'm never ever going to stop regretting it."

He was to my scrutiny, genuine, therefore I ceased to regard him with mistrust.

"I just never stop fucking up do I?" he laughed bitterly.

"Landing a job in a ship yard of all places was my blessing in disguise. That's how I ran into Pike. I always had a pretty good grasp on computer science- hell, science in general- and when Pike found out who I was he talked me into applying, and got me to take some placement tests. Turns out my experience building Starfleet vessels put me way ahead of the game. He placed me at fourth year cadet level, only without all the command courses, so I'm cramming those in, and with Pike's help I might be a captain in three years. Coulda' done in two, though, if I didn't have to take these stupid command and protocol courses."

I was preoccupied with assimilating all that he had communicated, but had I not been I would have upbraided him for his ill-informed disregard of command and protocol courses.

I simply nodded. After some two years wondering after him without answer, to have him sitting before me, offering this information without any difficulty seemed a gross discredit to the time that had passed.

I did not speak of these inner conflicts, however, and soon Jim had diverted my attention back to trivial matters; I regained composure, seamlessly reverting to monosyllabic answers and noncommittal noises in response. Jim did not seem to notice anything to be less than what it should be after that, and our night duly concluded.

I still am meditating on our conversation and the implications of it.


	48. II, vi

I'm breaking at the britches

Mother and father were visiting Earth, and I ensured my schedule was open for the duration of their visit.

The dock was empty of all but four other people, also awaiting for the transport from Vulcan. This group gathered near the portal that would receive the vessel transferring passengers from the starship. There were several other portals in the lobby area, but there appeared to be no other ships arriving that day. It was extremely quiet; the only sound was the tapping of one man's shoes on the polished concrete floor as he paced a short, linear walk. I was able to hear the craft arriving. The man's pacing stopped, and the sound of the airlock being released echoed though the lobby. Then there was a number of humans and Vulcans sweeping out of the corridor. Mother and father were among the last to discharge, and I stood to the side with my hands clasped behind my back while I waited. When I caught sight of them I walked forward.

"Mother," I greeted, taking the bag from her hand and placing it on the ground to greet her properly.

"Spock! Tell me, what is new and exciting in your life?" she enthused, placing her hands on my forearms, contact no issue as I was wearing a green, full-sleeve knit. Father stood behind her, dressed in full, traditional Vulcan robes, observing our exchange passively.

"Nothing of significance since I last spoke to you," I replied. "I believe that was only two days ago." Although, mother had informed me two weeks in advance of their trip.

She smiled, laughing somewhat. "I suppose that may be the case, however, I haven't relayed all that you've told me to your father," she said, looking over her shoulder.

Father stepped forwardsand presented the ta'al, which I also did in turn.

"What are your intentions for the evening? Do you wish to retire directly to your suite?" I asked.

Father did not reply. He looked at my mother, as did I.

"Well, your father has no meetings today, and I have nothing planned. I was actually hoping, if you had time, we might drive passed grandma and grandpa's house... I know we don't own it anymore, but I miss them. Then perhaps we could have an early dinner before returning. We have to be up early tomorrow morning."

I had no qualms with this proposed agenda, so I nodded my ascent, and reached down to take her and father's luggage.

"Is the Pontiac still in working order, Spock?" mother asked. We began to walk toward the exit.

"It is. I have been keeping it in a garage on campus, in the engineering district. I also do maintenance work on it when needed. We may use it for transportation today."

"Oh, perfect!"

After a pause my father noted, "You are dressed in an informal manner, Spock."

I considered my apparel: my green knit and dark denim pants; my leather jacket was slung over one arm, as well. "Yes," I agreed, simply.

"And you are still courting this Nyota?"

Here I hesitated, uncertain what an acceptable answer would constitute. Finally I settled: "No, I do not believe I am actively courting her any longer- that is, whether we remain in a relationship or not is undefined at the moment."

"Then it is _you_ who wishes to alter the paradigm of your relationship?" Father raised his brow in inquiry.

"Considering her actions, it may be deduced a mutual desire that our relationship should find itself in such a state."

"What actions?" mother asked sharply. She was trailing between me and father, but when we arrived at the shuttle bay she walked ahead, to proceed us boarding.

"It is of no real importance."

"Of course it is," she insisted, "but if you don't want to talk about it then then you only need say so, Spock. I'm actually surprised you didn't say anything to me about this before."

"...She behaved incongruously with what I expected of her," I conceded.

Mother frowned. "That could mean anything."

"Nyota had... unbefitting interaction with Jim."

"Jim?" she asked, disregarding the bulk of my statement, and once again honing in on the subject of, perhaps, greater interest.

"Jim?" she asked again. "From when you stayed with grandma and grandpa?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"Good lord, Spock! _That_ I would have liked to have known! How did you find each other again?"

"We are mutual acquaintances of Christopher's," I explained, seating myself on the far side of mother; father assumed his position on the other. The doors to the shuttle closed, and then the shuttle was moving seamlessly across the rails. I looked out at the passing windows of various buildings and the reflection of the shuttle in them, but mother continued to study me closely.

"And?" she eventually asked. I raised a brow, looking sidelong at her, and she clarified, "How was he? What did he say? Are you still in touch?"

"He is well, and yes, he apologized, but we are not in touch, as you put it, any longer." I may have- necessarily- understated the parameters of our relationship. Mother can be interrogative at times, and since I had been unreconciled in my thoughts regarding him, I had not mentioned it to her; it was easy enough, in the times that we talked to simply ask mother about her affairs on Vulcan and to otherwise misdirect her. This is not usually the case for in person discussion with her however; I believe she is highly skilled at interpreting non-verbal language.

"Did he explain himself?" mother asked, the shuttle coming to a halt, several people exiting and several more boarding, before the doors closed and we were in transit once more.

"Yes. He wished to avoid parting."

"Pardon me?" mother turned to catch my eye again, and I obliged her.

"He wished to avoid parting," I repeated, frowning slightly at her growing upset.

"But.. But that's so insensitive!"

"Indeed," I nodded, with some amusement. I glanced at father. He seemed confused, but firmly set against displaying any interest. The age lines upon his face seemed substantially deeper than I recalled, which caused me some disquietude.

"Well, I hope I taught you better than that, Spock, but if I didn't at least now you see the importance of paying mind to your social obligations."

I resented this statement for several reasons.

"Jim does not have a mother," I pointed out, "nor any family." Mother's indignant expression crumpled and fell.

"Oh, well-" she paused, "Perhaps you should tell him how it effected to you."

Before I could reply that it has not, in fact, effected me, mother continued to reminisce about Jim, rather obtusely stating back to me all that I had told her of him. Her opinion of him grew increasingly conflicted, this I could perceive. Further, her speculation was essentially pointless as she had not met Jim- nor _would_ she ever, I presumed.

She was still speaking of him when the shuttle arrived at the bay in greatest proximity to the garage; I lead mother and father off the shuttle and to the engineering building, providing my voice authorized password to the computer system before the garage door retracted. I then removed the white sheet covering the vehicle once inside. Mother was terribly happy upon seeing the Pontiac. She ran a hand gently along its length, and then turned to me, waiting with a small smile. I retrieved the key from my pocket and opened the passenger side first, assisting her into the vehicle. I turned to father then, gesturing to the back seat; he nodded, and I opened the door for him. I did not fail to notice the slightest thinning of his lips as he gathered his robes around him. Once I closed the door behind father, I placed their luggage in the trunk and then made my way to the driver's side, and once my seatbelt had been fastened, I started the car. Mother made a small noise of excitement and ran her hands over the interior.

"I have so many memories of my dad in this car. He loved it," she said, her expression one of exuberance.

"Indeed." I nodded in agreement with her sentiments, reversing and guiding the vehicle out of the garage as I did so.

"Mother, would you mind withdrawing my sunglasses from the glove-compartment?" I asked, thinking that the day, though cloudy, was bright enough to utilize them; I do so when I may, lest their purchase be for naught. Mother held them in both her hands for quick study.

"Spock, these are very nice," she said, handing them to me.

"Thank you."

"You do not require those," father asserted from the backseat, referring to the fact that Vulcan eyes are relatively insensitive to bright light, negating the need for protective eyewear on Earth.

"No, I suppose I do not, however Nyota purchased them for me, and it would be illogical to squander them." Father did not reply. Mother only chuckled.

She spent the drive away from Starfleet questioning me on all things school related, cued by our surroundings no doubt. Once we were in the city she moved onto more general topics, and it was not long until I had pulled onto grandmother and grandfather's street. It was quite odd, indeed, parked across from the house and sitting in silent contemplation of it and all that I associated with it. The garden, I noted, though consisting of the same plants grandmother had spent so much of her time cultivating, had now grown wild and unkempt. There was not much sentiment in it for me. I recall being surrounded by their things after their deaths; rather than experiencing comfort in the proof of their existence, I merely felt their absence more acutely.

"Okay," mother said after a time, touching her hands to her cheeks, and smiling sombrely at her old home. "We can go now." Her hands came away and she nodded, then looked at me. I inclined my head, shifted the gear, and pulled away from the curb. Mother directed me to one of the restaurants she frequented in the past where we partook an early dinner. Soon we were on our way back to Starfleet Academy.

It was decidedly unfortunate and unexpected that as we were returning to Starfleet, en direct route to mother and father's suite, we should encounter Jim.

I parked the vehicle outside of their apartment building before exiting and moving around to help mother out of the car. Father had already gotten out by the time I had closed the passenger side door. We stood on the walkway in a group.

"That was lovely, Spock," mother said, smiling.

"_Spock?_" came Jim's voice from behind me, and as one my family and I turned to regard him. There was a man standing behind him, with a slightly put upon expression- though his face was otherwise agreeable- and he had several books clutched to his chest. I did not recognize this other man.

"Oh, this is Bones," Jim discharged immediately; he waved a dismissing hand at the man who then rolled his eyes with plain exasperation. Jim approached. "You must be Mr and Mrs- Er- Spock's parents." Jim said, addressing mother and father.

'Bones' took two steps closer, and I turned to Jim. "S'chn T'gai," I reminded him, certain that I had provided him with my surname in the past.

"Right," Jim nodded and grinned more, attempting to repeat the name.

"Mr and Mrs S'chn T'gai- it's nice to meet you," he extended a hand toward mother, who, though looking curious, was certainly not her usual affable and affectionate self; she was reserved.

"Likewise," mother offered, taking Jim's hand.

"And you, too," Jim presented the ta'al to my father, who did so in return with an inclination of the head.

"Bones and I were just studying," he said, gesturing with his textbook and PADD pinned against his side with one arm.

"How nice," mother said.

Bones, I noticed, lifted the corners of his lips in what was no more than a mockery of smile. Again, I must admit to regarding Bones at the time, formulating an opinion of his character. When I turned away again, Jim was eyeing me, and I noticed his gaze lingered on my eyewear; I could not tell what his thoughts were, which is of little, if any, surprise.

"We have just returned from dinner," I provided.

"Nice. Do you have plans now?" Jim asked us at large.

"I am delivering my parents to their suite," I gestured to the building, "and then I am returning to my dorm room to study.

"Why don't you join me and Bones?" Jim asked lighting up.

I looked over at Jim's companion. He continued to look relatively unwell.

"I am not certain-"

"We'll wait for you," Jim cut me off, taking a few steps back toward Bones' side. "It was lovely to meet you, Mr and Mrs S'chn T'gai." With Jim's now nearly flawless pronunciation of our familial name I caught father from the corner of my eye finally turn to regard Jim in earnest. Mother raised her brows (something she undoubtably picked up from father), and I merely blinked in surprise.

"Hm," I said after a moment, when Jim and Bones had moved out of range. I went to the trunk and removed father and mother's bags before walking them to the lobby door, handing off the luggage to father.

"He's... more than I expected," mother said, obviously referring to Jim.

"More?" I questioned.

"Yes, more," she said, sounding somewhat uncertain herself.

I raised a brow. Then I lightly embraced mother, nodded to father, and took my leave: "I will speak with you tomorrow," I told them.

Jim was saying something and laughing loudly, while Bones shook his head in what looked to me to be disgust. As I approached the conversation ended, but Jim's unruly smile did not diminish as he turned to me.

"I gotta say, Spock, those sunglasses are badass."

I was about to reply that they had been purchased by Nyota's, but thought better of bringing her into the conversation. "Indeed," I said instead.

Bones huffed, which drew my attention. I turned to him, offering the Vulcan salute. "I am Spock."

He nodded. "Leonard Bones Mccoy. I've heard some stuff about you." He did not elaborate as to what exactly he had heard, but his voice was particularly gruff, and his tone left me with the impression that what he had heard had not at all been favourable- though, since I could not see Jim speaking poorly of me I had to assume that McCoy had reached this opinion of my character of his own volition- or perhaps he is xenophobic.

"I cannot say the same," I replied simply.

"That's because I know Jim better than you."

Jim laughed loudly and humourlessly; he slung an arm around McCoy's shoulder. "Bones is a bit rough around the edges, but you learn to love him." Jim shook McCoy a little, a smile plastered to his face.

I merely raised a brow.

"So! Do we get a ride in Sheila? Or are you gonna meet us after?" Jim said the first part loudly and the second quietly, as if he did not truly wish for me to hear it.

"I believe I should return to my dorm, Jim."

"Nonsense!" Jim stepped over to the Pontiac, bending over to wipe away a finger print with his uniform sleeve. I watched him, but made no move, estimating whether the difficulty of removing myself from the situation would be worth the enterprise or not.

"Very well," I relented. When I moved around to the driver's side door, Jim opened the passenger side, looking to McCoy and calling, "You coming?" McCoy took a seat in the back, lips turned down. He fastened his seat belt, then began picking lint off his uniform.

"Spock, you've been treating Sheila well!" Jim ran a hand over the dashboard of the vehicle in much the way mother had.

He questioned me about maintenance and McCoy about methods of operation (as if he did not truly believe I knew how to operate the vehicle) for the remainder of the drive, which was all of several minutes to the garage. Once the car was parked we walked to my building, Jim and McCoy waiting outside as I retrieved my study material.

"Do you mind if we go back to his place?" Jim asked, when I returned.

"No," I answered.

McCoy's dorm was much the same as my own. There was little room for the three of us. Jim sprawled out on the bed before propping himself up on one arm; McCoy seated himself in an out-of-place lawn chair at the end of the desk across from the bed; and I was given the desk itself. There were clothes strewn about, as well as book, papers, and PADDs, but McCoy and Jim seemed unbothered, taking very little or no care or caution stepping over he mess and on it. Ultimately very little was accomplished. McCoy sunk deeper into the lawn chair, and eventually put his feet up on the bed, a PADD propped up in his lap; he procured an apple to consume while he read, as well. Jim laid back, and brought his legs up to stand a PADD against. He seemed to study in intervals of ten minutes before he would surface and look past his lap to McCoy, making some comment or another, often, I must admit, capturing my attention as well. They did not exclude me from the conversation, though I would have made more progress had they done. One instance of this is included below.

From behind me: "So, apparently Professor Gelineau had an affair with a cadet."

"Hah! That old man? Who'd wanna sleep with that dusty-"

Jim cut McCoy off, "Old pile of Bones?" I could hear the laughter in Jim's voice, and at this point, I had taken pause in my calculations, looking up, and turning slightly to view behind me. "I dunno. I could see it. He's got that whole sadist thing going on," Jim continued as he whirled his stylus between his fingers.

"Who would go for that?' McCoy asked, sounding mildly disgusted.

"A masochist? Or an Orion?" Jim purposed, grinning. This was where I felt the need to assert myself.

"An Orion would not pursue an undesirable professor while surrounded by such a wealth of youth."

"What he said," came McCoy.

Jim laughed loudly, "How would you know?"

"I am closely acquainted with an Orion," I explained.

Jim frowned "There are only a dozen on campus- Wait." Jim sat up. "Have you ever slept with him?"

That Jim knows how many Orions are on campus was not lost on me.

As to the other matter- I refrained from bristling. I had sexual relations with an individual prior to entering a relationship with Nyota; it was, indeed, a male, though not an Orion. I am not sure what emboldened Jim to address the matter, but I considered it both personal and private.

I cocked a brow seamlessly. "No, I have not had sexual relations with _her_."

McCoy, presumably choking on his own saliva, dwindled into a fully developed coughing fit.

Jim seemed to come to a realization: "_Oh, _you're talking about Gyla." He abruptly seemed to withdraw his enthusiasm. In a far more reserved tone he said, "Well, I don't see why it would make a difference if they're surrounded by hot cadets. Gelineau is the greater conquest after all."

This point I had to concede. I said as much and then resumed studying, as did Jim and McCoy.

It was just as I had begun considering returning to my dorms for the night that McCoy spoke, "You fellas' wanna get a bite to eat? Some drinks? I'm ready to pack it in for the night."

"That was the plan all along, my friend," Jim said, stretching. His clenched fist came close to my shoulder, and he moved it toward me to lightly tap my upper arm. "Spock?"

"In fact, I should be retiring now." I began to save the open applications on my PADD, and then neatly stacked my things.

"No, no. You gotta come out with us. It's not a complete study session unless you go for drinks after."

"It is not the entire population that takes pleasure in becoming intoxicated, Jim."

"You don't actually have to have a drink, Spock." I took pause when Jim said this. My only true hesitation was that it was a very sudden prospect, and I prefer to be aware well in advance of schedule changes. I mentally rehearsed my itinerary for the following day. I had no commitments in the morning, and nothing of import in the latter half of the day, besides visiting with my parents once more.

"I suppose I may join you."

"You can just leave your stuff," McCoy said, waving at my materials.

It was quite interesting at the time, interacting with Jim and McCoy. We went to a bar and lounge where there was a live musical performance- a young human male playing an acoustic guitar and likewise providing vocals. I had a interest in the performance, playing the Vulcan lute myself. The chatter surrounding us was quite loud, however, and the sound was disrupted. There was a small gathering of tables and chairs at the foot of the stage where many people were seated and listening, but Jim and McCoy had asked to be placed at a booth.

Jim was his usual buoyant self; McCoy was as 'rough' as Jim had indicated him to be. Though I believe I discerned a true friendship between the two, McCoy's words were often harsh and upbraiding or sarcastic and caustic. Jim did not seem to take offence. I suppose I did not either, but his antagonism did effectively generate irritation on my part which I endeavoured to contain. Jim knew, however, and he found it amusing. McCoy also seemed to know well enough when he had said something to affect me, and often he would grin inimically afterward. Having said that- and I know not if this is a result of dedication to his profession, some personal experience with addiction, or a means of expressing his true estimation of me- perhaps a combination of these- McCoy he deigned to defend me in one instant.

Jim had made a passing comment, a simple inquiry of, "Not into hot chocolate or anything then?"

"I am uncertain as of yet." I did not feel pressured or judged in anyway when Jim asked this, but McCoy seemed disrupted by his words.

"Lay off him, Jim! He would have ordered something if he wanted it."

"Whoa, whoa." Jim held up his hands placatingly. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Do you even know how addictive chocolate is to Vulcans?"

"No worse than alcohol for humans, I thought," Jim said, frowning.

"Three to four times as addictive!" Bones continued. "More, depending on their age."

"What!" Jim looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. I recalled my first taste of chocolate, and how often I had thought of it afterward, though the cravings were nothing of real severity.

"What about when we were kids? Why didn't you say anything?!" Jim cried.

"You gave me little opportunity," I stated simply. McCoy was steadily looking more enraged, and I was becoming steadily more amused.

"You gave him chocolate when you were kids?!"

Jim shrugged helplessly. "We were going to a house party- I-"

"My god, man! Not only is it addictive, but the effect on a young Vulcan is huge! They have even less ability to suppress their emotions and telepathic abilities!" It was at this point that I began to see the poor side of McCoy's insert, as he was encroaching a topic I had never discussed with Jim, nor had I even disclosed anything of the nature had occurred- that is, the touching of our minds. 

Jim gave him a look and then turned to me. "Spock?"

I confirmed what McCoy had said again. Jim's eyes lingered on me, and though I could not tell what he was thinking, I felt that he must be angered. He looked perhaps wary, too. I attempted to argue in my favour.

"I imagine the affect chocolate has on me is diminished compared to that of a full Vulcan."

McCoy was the one to eye me then. "You seem decidedly Vulcan to me."

Indeed, I am- for all intents and purposes- Vulcan. I attempted to formulate some argument, and I could not... I did not know how to respond, therefore, I did not respond. McCoy took a swig of his beer, and Jim fiddled with the label on his. It was also at that time I decided a slice of chocolate cake would be agreeable.

"The thought of you as a kid..." McCoy said to Jim, forcing a shudder,. His outrage of only moments ago was seemingly forgotten.

"Hey! I was a great kid!" Jim protested, drawn out of his preoccupation.

"You were as a varmint," I provided, though I had only known Jim in his late teen years.

"What's a varmint?" Jim asked, whilst McCoy laughed raucously.

"A troublesome wild animal."

"I was not! You just don't like kids."

"I find Ryan-kam to be quite agreeable."

"Yeah, one kid. You're as bad as Bones."

"I like kids just fine," McCoy said unconvincingly.

"Bones, you hate kids, and kids hate you."

McCoy shrugged.

"They are difficult to interact with," I commiserated. In fact, I do _not_ much care for children.

"I can't imagine Vulcan children being difficult to interact with," Jim said, taking a swig of his own.

"Indeed, they are. They can be subtly pertinent. It is also often difficult to reason with them. They ask many questions, as well."

Jim snorted, and McCoy rolled his eyes.

This was the manner in which the conversation continued until the server arrived with McCoy and Jim's order of appetizers; I then ordered a slice of chocolate cake. When it came, I took my time eating as to ensure that the effects were not too great, or at least gradual; this was not difficult: it was an extremely rich cake with a raspberry reduction drizzled atop. It was necessary to consume the cake in small portions otherwise it was prone to coating my teeth- something which Jim and McCoy laughed uproariously at (humour is the antithesis of logic).

There was much conversation and laughter for the duration of our outing, though, a more subtle entertainment was drawn in my case. Approximately two hours later- if my estimation is correct- we concluded the affair. I had finished about three quarters of my cake, and in paying our bills, I consumed the last quarter at once.

Jim accompanied us back to McCoy's room to gather my items, though neither was he staying. It was well into the night at this time and the three of us- or the both of McCoy and Jim- were loud enough for their voices to carry through the near vicinity. In fact, my ears were sensitive enough to detect a subtle echo from some distance back. It was during this walk that I began to speak more candidly with McCoy; in part due to my intoxication, in part due to McCoy's own reception of me and mine of him. Though he is confrontational and argumentative, I find his attitude interesting and his humour easier to comprehend than others'.

I believe some of my partiality lies in the knowledge that in lieu of the my logic and the unrestrained manor in which I relay it, I am oft perceived as being both socially inept and exceedingly pessimistic; McCoy surpasses me not in logic, but in pessimism. He criticized me with frequency, but did not seem to place any value in his own sentiments. I, of course, freely responded in kind (this was the situation at the lounge), and he did not seem to take offence at this in turn. After some considerable discussion punctuated by the exchange of barbarous words, I found that annoyance had given way to tentative amusement.

On taking our leave of McCoy, he said, "See ya' around then?"

I nodded, but I doubt I will be seeing much more of McCoy.

Immediately after the door closed behind us Jim was grinning at me.

"Bones likes you."

"That may be a misplaced sentiment."

"No, I know him. If he didn't like you he would have just said, 'Hope I never see you again.'"

"Indeed?" I was aware of my that my lips were twitching. Jim was watching me, therefore he did not fail to notice this, either.

"You know, I missed you," he said abruptly. This shocked me, and no doubt it was obvious on my face.

"I believed, before we met this year, that I had simply overestimated your regard for me and my grandparents."

We were waiting for the elevator. Jim grasped my arm around the elbow. "That wasn't it. But..." He was silent.

"Jim?"

"It's nothing."

I raised a brow. "Are you certain?"

"Yeah," Jim said. His smile was a small one which I believe was meant to be reassuring. He still had not released my arm. Perhaps that is why I continued.

"I do not mean for you to come under the impression that I am begrudging you for those events. It is true that I believed your regard was less than this, and that that played a part in why I did not arrange to see you myself, but I also felt that parting pleasantries would be ultimately useless. I failed to foresee garnering such a lack of closure from my departure." I did not state that I had waited- and perhaps hoped- that Jim would call when he was released.

"Well, thanks for telling me... You know, I always thought that we'd meet again."

I nodded solemnly. "I have always considered you to be more optimistic than is natural."

Jim laughed. "I don't think optimistic is the word for it."

"Indeed? I suppose that I do not know you well enough to say." The elevator arrived and we stepped inside.

"Yeah, you do," Jim said, the doors languidly rolling together.

"Upon what basis do you make that assertion?" I enquired. Jim had dropped his hand from my arm, and I put my own in my pockets because the atmospheric temperature was less than ideal, though I wasn't particularly aware of it at the time as the intoxicating effects of the chocolate were inhibiting my senses. The movement of the elevator when it dropped was acutely dizzying, but I was in no danger of extenuating circumstances.

"I don't know. Maybe because you've seen into my mind."

I felt my posture become rigged with shock, and I looked over at Jim. He suddenly seemed further distanced than I recalled, but also far too near. The elevator was painfully slow in its decent, McCoy being located on the eighth floor, this being an old building with outdated lifts.

"Pardon me?"

"You know, from seeing into my mind. Although I guess I felt like you knew me even before that..."

"You were aware?" I asked, incredulously.

"I had my suspicions, but I put it together tonight." Jim shrugged.

I took a breath. "What is your meaning when you say _I know you_?" I turned on the spot so that I was fully facing Jim. Surprisingly, he seemed overcome with nerves- he did not turn to face me; instead he played with the sleeve of his jacket with one hand.

"I don't know, Spock."

"I believe you do," I countered. Here were the answers I mentioned earlier, the answers Jim had which I did not, and there was no danger in petitioning for them now because it was Jim who had led us to this instance- or so I told myself in my inebriated state... Ultimately, I would receive no answers from him.

"Do _you_?" he asked. His fidgeting stopped.

"No," I said.

Jim turned to me, his arms loose at his sides, holding his breath in a display I interpreted as some sort of arousal. He stepped closer to me until he was little more than two inches away, the temperature of the space between us rising impossibly, and I knew my interpretation to be correct. My own breath stopped coming. Had I not been paralyzed I would have stepped back, for the intensity of the situation I felt would do irreversible damage to my heart, pounding furiously in my chest.

"Jim," I attempted to warn him of the possibility of my impending heart failure, but he simply exhaled, coming even closer; I experienced this breath billowing gently against my lower lip, and this seemed to short-circuit the neural networking of my brain. I did not know what was happening to my senses.

Then his lips made contact with mine, and this seemed to reinforce the short-circuit; it grew to disastrous proportions, until my perceptions became distorted. I could hear nothing for the sound of blood rushing in my ears; my face had grown hot, higher in temperature than I ever thought physiologically possible; and I was both tense and relaxed in that I had absolutely no control over my faculties any longer. Jim's hands brushed along the length of my sides- one coming to rest on my arm and the other on my waist- pulling my very consciousness in their direction, until I was only aware of the areas we were in contact: his hands on me, and his lips upon my own.

I cannot understand how such a simple action could provoke such an overwhelming _need_ in me to react. Had I not been stunned by the force of this desire, surely I would have acted in accordance with it: pushing Jim back against the wall and reaching for every part of him. It is not only confounding but frightening to know I might have done this.

In addition, Jim had caught me so unprepared that I was without composition enough to withhold emotional and thought transference. He was at the least aware of me this time. _Holy shit, Spock is in my mind, _I heard him. I am not sure what he heard of me, if anything; as I have stated, I was no longer thinking with cohesion.

Jim pulled me to him, both his hands travelling to the small of my back; mine remained in my pockets. He opened his mouth against mine. I looked at him from below heavy eyelids. Jim's brown eyelashes settled on his cheeks, upon fluid skin-

_He thinks I'm beautiful, _wasJim's thought. My face grew hotter still, and I could feel his lips turning up, smiling against mine. I was still unable to move or respond in anyway other than to allow his mouth to guide mine in whatever movement he so desired.

_This is unreal, _he thought._ How is this possible? _I experienced my own solid, lean body from within Jim's. It was apparent that he had considered how I would feel beneath his hands before this- and that I had somehow surpassed his expectations...

Abruptly, Jim was attempting to curtail his thoughts, with something come to mind he did not wish for me to see. It was far too late when he tried to redirect our thoughts; in fact, I am certain he accelerated the rate at which they were made known to me. First there was a man- pale, dark haired and lean- in an old apartment; someone and someplace I knew not of which was entirely foreign, but had reminded Jim of me. This single kiss we were engaged in surpassed that experience- and others which I had vague impressions of- counted among his most exciting.

Then there was the instance with Nyota which, I must concede, came upon the direction of both of us and not Jim alone. They were together in a dark and secluded hall; he had his back to the wall, and they were osculating heavily. Jim's thoughts from the memories and his present thoughts were almost hard to distinguish: _I don't want you to be with her, _and, _Who's the asshole keeping this incredible woman all to himself? _

I was repulsed, and I projected at him the full extent of the difficulty he had caused us- me. Seeing Nyota in this way demolished any sense of solidarity I may have had; she had attacked Jim with equal vigour. This betrayal was enough to experience a physical reaction, my chest unpleasantly tightening. Jim, likewise, reeled, experiencing my pain and rage without any intervention on my part. Indeed, I wished for him to experience it.

We had refrained from progressing our relationship, yet Nyota had had no reservations in the company of another. I thought together they may very well have taken on the specific task of demonstrating tome what an inadequate partner I made. It was a foolish idea, though, if for no other reason then I knew myself to be a satisfactory lover. Memories of my first and only sexual partner came forward. Jim gasped against me, but both of us had long since frozen.

My memories directed a return to the topic of our conversation earlier: Jim thought of the Orion male he had mentioned, and then I thought of Gyla. Then images came of Jim and Gyla in a state of undress upon her bed, Nyota arriving at their dorm room and appearing furious- what Jim interpreted as furious, and what I knew to be veiled hurt, though it was hardly justified. Indeed, I was appalled- particularly that he thought I could be drawn into this circle of undignified and salacious activity. I could not accept him.

At a precisely opportune time the elevator, with a small chime, arrived in the lobby, and I tore away from Jim, proceeding to the door without so much as turning an eye to him.

"Spock!" he called after me. "Spock! Fuck!"

I could hear him jogging up behind me, but I refused to relent knowing what my temper would produce in the way of action should I.

"Spock, won't you hear me out?" His voice was pleading, and it provoked me further.

"No."

"I can explain."

"I do not require an explanation," I said quietly, firmly. I also recognized at this time the last quarter of the cake was beginning to have its effect, as I misjudged the distance of the concrete and had to allow for a reassessment of my spatial awareness.

"But you've got it all wrong!" Jim ceased his pursuit, and I likewise halted, turning to him. Jim looked surprised, but he recovered quickly with a humourless laugh. "What am I supposed to do, if you only want to believe the worst in me?"

"Give up." The sentiment came without premeditation.

Jim was angered by my words.

"Fuck you, Spock!"

"I am not here simply to please you," I quipped.

He grew angrier.

"You're a hypocritical, _callous_ moron!" Jim shouted at me, enunciating each insult with a finger jabbed in my direction. "As long as you act like some superior being-"

"I am not superior. _You_ are _inferior_." Even at the time, the thought that I might count myself superior to others was laughable at best and contemptible at worst. It occurred to me that I have struggled far too long in accepting who and what I am- with feelings of _in_feriority- to let Jim accuse me of this. I would not have it.

"Why?" Jim demanded. "Because I have emotions? You're afraid of your own shadow!"

I took a step away from Jim, the truth in his last words not lost on me.

All the while I had been developing a sense of alarm; I knew logic had eluded me and my actions were being dictated by emotions which should never have gone unchecked. I felt disorientated. The intoxication had loosened my judgement. I also knew that I appeared sober; I stood steadily and my speech was clear and decisive, though I was anything but.

"Indeed, I am more frightened of you than of myself," I responded; it seemed a dreadful insult, but I am uncertain how Jim received it, or if he received it at all. He was expressionless the last I saw of him before I departed, my vision unfocused with the jarring turn I made. I succeeded in returning to my dorm room without stumbling or swaying in excess, and I was prepared for rest and asleep within five minutes of entering.

Regarding, first, this bond we have and the questions I put to it... I required virtuous data upon which to base my beliefs, therefore, my conjecture was withheld; now, however, I am prepared to remark that our relationship does not seem to be platonic. Indeed, prior to the time I decided to engage in sexual activity (though not extending back to our summer) I was aware the nature of my regard for Jim. I doubted, however, that he could return the sentiment. That has been disproven, but it is irrelevant now in lieu of what I have learned. Because of these mixed results, I have mixed emotions: happiness, disappointment, anger, satisfaction. Satisfaction because the parameters of our bond have at last been properly established- though, there remains a quality to it undefinable. I believe the most veracious designation of it is _compatibility_. Jim and I are simply compatible. However, that implies less than one may divine: If inherently we are compatible (resulting in an inherent bond), that does not mean that what is _not_ inherent in us is compatible; that is, who we have become is _not_ cohesive. That has been plainly established. It is possible that this incompatibility does not nullify the compatibility, however it must in _some_ manner negate it.

Secondly, I wish to address the matter of logic. Rationality is a method system flawless in its reasoning and should be applicable to all scenarios with acceptable to outstanding culmination dependent on the amount of pertinent information available. If intuition and emotion prove to have higher operating efficiency then I surmise this is simply because subjects are conducting themselves in a likewise irrational way, else I should not fail to deduce any detail.

For a time I denied that logic _should_ be applied. It may seem contrary to what I have just written- that logic is applicable and efficacious in all matters- but I had had my conviction so strongly shaken that I began to believe Surak's method was not befitting of me. It is appalling, now that I recognize my misconstrued perception for what it was. I do not know how gradually I strayed from my truth, when it was that I turned away from my heritage, and for how long I have been in this state of confusion in lieu of it (else it was confusion that caused this). In any regard, it was when McCoy commented that I seemed more Vulcan than human- or rather, when I could think of no human quality of mine to dispute his claim- that I came to the realization I had strayed further than I recognized.

Perhaps it was Jim who created the initial confusion. More likely it began when I was but a child, consistently rejected by my peers, up until the point my father's associates on the council of the Science Academy remarked that my human heritage put me at a disadvantage; I have always been told that I am insufficiently Vulcan. Naturally, I came to believe this. Whether I be human or not, I certainly was no Vulcan.

But I, indeed, am: I am nothing but Vulcan.

My emotions are unlike human emotion. They cannot be managed in the same way, and I am unable understand them the way humans understand their own emotions. I am a logical being. To deny this is to allow those who considered me inferior to rob me of who I am or to allow them to deprive me of who I should be.

I am ashamed at how weak I have been, that I have let myself digress to this state, but I will amend the situation. I have arranged a meeting with a Vulcan healer located on Earth. I will submerse myself in meditation until then.


	49. II, vii

I told you to be patient, I told you to be fine

I will begin by saying that my work with healer Savar has been gainful. Through guided meditation, discussion, a physical examination which led to a modification of my diet, and a suggested change in the style of my dress (essentially a reversion to my previous, formal attire), I have achieved what I intended upon engaging this campaign. I am not without emotion- that of, course would require the Kohlinar- but nor am I as overcome with emotion as I might be. I have determined for myself an appropriate balance of feeling and unfeeling. It is gratifying and relieving to have this control, to resolve what I experience and how much sentiment I experience with intention. It also engenders in me a sense of calm I could not hope to achieve by any other means.

Returning to the subject of this journal: my efforts to regain mental, emotional control while successful may have come too late. I had several unfortunate encounters with Cadet Kirk resulting in altercations. It has become clear to me now- in hindsight and with a firm grasp on my attitude- that I must take responsibility for their instigation and escalation.

All of the altercations took place at the weekly study group, which Kirk was set upon attending despite my displeasure.

The first of these quarrels I mentioned brooked an unfounded remark on my part concerning Kirk's history as a delinquent and that this in some way demeaned his value as a Starfleet cadet. I could identify both pain and anger in his expression at the delivery of my disparaging words, but I was, at the time, incapable of remorse being so entwined in my resentment. Kirk became more subdued around me, and in the ensuing days, this gave rise to yet more resentment and indignation.

I began to disregard his presence and isolate him in study groups. It came to a climax one afternoon when he protested this treatment which, indeed, he had every right to. I heard him and responded, but his rejoinders were defensive in nature, and out of sheer frustration I did not consider what was being stated implicitly.

I argued that, "You are not wanted here-"

Kirk responded, "By _you _maybe." Then he added, "You must really despise me. I never knew you to be such an asshole, Spock."

I took pause at this insult of all, for the last time I had heard Kirk use this word was years ago on a soccer field, in my defence no less. I knew what it was to face ridicule, and with witnesses no less (I withheld a glance in the direction of the students, who were no doubt watching the exchange with rapt attention). I had allowed myself to behave in this way because I believed this situation with Jim to be somehow different from those other situations- likely the same justification that populated the mind of my own antagonists.

"...You are correct," I acquiesced. Kirk looke disbelieving, therefore I elaborated, "I have behaved curelly, and I apologize." For a moment he appeared confused and conflicted, and then in the next there was understanding in his expression. "However, I can offer you no more than fair treatment. I will cease this maltreatment, but I do wish for you to remove yourself from my vicinity, permanently. I have done you a courtesy; it is dignified that you do the same in turn, honouring my request."

Perhaps I had not been forward- or _rude_- enough; Kirk continued to attend study groups even after this earnest appeal. I was able to keep my annoyance well in check, but inevitably we engaged in another row.

He made a comment on the work I had assisted a student in completing, perhaps not knowing I had done it, but that is doubtful. It was the coding solution for writing a specified program, and when the PADD was handed off to him, Kirk scoffed. I watched and listened, but kept my eyes fixed on my paper.

"That's the most retarded way you could do it," he said. "You have to think outside the box, get creative, and look for shortcuts, like right here and here." I could see him circling segments of code from the corner of my eye, and I felt the tips of my ears beginning to grow hot.

"Cadet Kirk, I believe the purpose of the assignment is to learn the formal function of writing, not how to utilize shortcuts." I could no longer go unheard. Jim looked up at me, his eyes moving slowly across my face.

"That's ridiculous, Spock. They don't teach stuff like this anymore," he gestured with the PADD. "It's archaic and useless, and the prof will be impressed by his advanced writing."

"On the contrary- one must understand the fundamentals before they utilize complex overpasses. Do not be foolish."

"I didn't say you could skip the basics, besides which these don't qualify as basics. And I'm not being foolish- _you_ are."

"In what manner am I being foolish? I am simply interested in these students understanding the material. You are interested in making them more like _you_."

"There's nothing wrong with me or the way I do things," he said in a low voice. Kirk had stood up, and I did also at his next attack. "And _you're_ the foolish one- trying to play teacher like you know everything!"

His words were not so damaging as the fact that we were once again having words in front of the student group; they had all, by then, stopped to watch as we exchanged insults.

"I am more intelligent than you, and I am your senior in the Academy."

"By a year!"

"Completing sixth year curriculum in addition to conducting this study group, and assisting in the computer labs up to and including writing the Kobayashi Maru program."

Kirk did not have a chance to rebut as our attention was drawn by an irate librarian bustling down the wide staircase in the centre of the building. "Out! Out! Both of you!" She made sweeping motions at us, and I spared Kirk only one glance before swiftly repacking my satchel and departing.

My unfounded expectation was that he would desist antagonizing me, particularly when he was not present at the next study group. This, however, was an overeager assumption. I felt naive when I came to realize this, but that is irrelevant, now.

I am, of course, notified and present for all attempts made on the Kobayashi Maru program being the author of it, and, indeed, I am one of two required to write a report on the performance and conduct of the applicant to be submitted for review; therefore I attended all three of Kirk's trials. I deduced upon his first undertaking that he had missed the point of the program. It is a scenario with a set outcome, and yet he seemed to have an expectation that he could and would _beat_ it. Perhaps in a manner of speaking _he did,_ though, I would never relate such a notion to him or any other. Indeed, he hardly deserves recognition for his transgression- and a transgression it _was_.

He bested my programming, though it was not designed with any superior security requirements in mind. It _was_ secured with my own software, however. I believe it is fair to assume that he used the knowledge I shared with him years ago to accomplish what he did; he may still even be in possession of the paper I provided to him. Though it was only the prototype of what I have built, I am uncertain how else he could have subverted my software. It has proven exceedingly difficult for even those I consider esteemed programmers. I do have plans of taking my work to market in the future, after I have completed my education. No doubt, Kirk's actions will damage my reputation- my software's reputation- by having done this, and truly that is what outrages me most.

I cannot begin to speculate what other outcome he expected; I did what was rational: I reported his misconduct. It may very well result in his expulsion (indeed, it is somewhat shocking that our quarrelling has escalated to warrant such serious consequences).

I dare say his hearing, scheduled for tomorrow, will be nothing less than entertaining. I am curious as to his defence in particular. What justifiable reason could he have had to do such a thing? I find myself so intrigued as to contemplate speaking with him in private (likely the truth will not be made public at the proceeding before the council and with an assembly present). Other questions I would put to him include the following: Does he feel that he has bested me, that he has proven _creativity_ defeats honest work? Is he _capable_ of conducting himself with probity? Does he acknowledge the manner in which he has betrayed his own integrity? When will he abstain provoking me?

In preparation for the trial tomorrow, I must review the case, conduct the necessary research, and meditate.


	50. II, viii

I told you to be balanced, I told you to be kind

I have completed my research, but I have yet to meditate.

I recalled from our past Kirk mentioning that his parents were in Starfleet. I have discovered that his father, George Kirk, served and died aboard the USS Kelvin, an outstanding officer. He saved many lives in sacrificing his own, including Jim's, but I wonder if he does not feel this way?

It might serve to explain his recklessness: perhaps he has simply seen too much loss in his life and does not feel that preservation is a worthwhile cause, that loss is not preventable in _any _capacity; or perhaps he simply feels isolated and that there is no one to desire his survival. Assuredly, my thought is that there is, potentially, more to this incident than I originally believed, that the inevitable destruction of the _Kobayashi Maru_ had some ulterior meaning to Jim and that this very well may have contributed to his reckless objective to overcome the program.

Regarding his obstinacy: he may fear that he has no control, and is simply overcompensating; or it may be that Kirk is so remarkably tenacious, strong-willed, and determined because he is fighting against this fate which has deprived him of a father and later the remainder of his family (his mother has passed away, but I recall what he told me of her in the past, and I do not believe she was truly a mother to him at all); perhaps he has had to learn to force his will to receive that which he desires, even that which needs, such as companionship... Or perhaps this is simply who he is. I respect him for this quality of stubborness, despite that it may be contrary to my own methodology. It is in a way, disregarding the impracticality of it, admirable; it requires remarkable strength, no doubt, to be so resolved at all times.

I am, in fact, _assuming,_ based on the intensity of his reaction, that there is, indeed, more to the matter; in fact, I am so inclined to believe that those experiences I mentioned above have shaped him in much the same way my own experiences with social disinclination have shaped me. These are the affairs that have made James T. Kirk himself.

For the present moment, the above questions can be added to my working list of enquiries, and I shall put this knowledge to the side.


	51. II, ix

Who will you fight? Who will fall far behind?

I have a moment now to record all that has transpired, to mourn the loss of a mother and billions of other lives, as impossible as this task is. What else might I do?

I do not believe I feel anything. I feel inside as my father appears on the outside, and yet unlike my father, my outward appearance indicates something altogether horrifying: my hands are shaking, my breathing is erratic, my heart pounds, my chest _aches,_ and I am, therefore ,slouched and rigid in my posture. I do not want to reflect on this; I do not want to discuss this; I do not want to compose this here, and yet I cannot command a ship in this state: I must face this.

I cannot.

The distress call was received during Jim's hearing which went much as expected. I was not surprised when he requested that I- his, eloquently put, _accuser_- confront him directly before the council. I recall stepping up to the opposite podium and there being a moment of sullen eye contact; Jim's gaze was abound with disappointment. His boldness, though, was per the norm, remarkable- particularly in facing the commandant's and the council's bias. I am confounded that I did not question this trait of Jim's- his tenacity- before. Now, standing before the council without the slightest wavering (and indeed, throughout the events which followed), it seemed an unfathomable negligence in my observational moral imperative. I believe I may have been operating under the illation that this behaviour, this attitude is somehow common or ordinary. It is anything but.

"This is Lieutenant Spock, one of our most distinguished students," Admiral Barnett introduced me.

I turned to Jim. "Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine in the programming thereby changing the conditions of the test."

"Your point being?" he responded.

"In academic vernacular, you cheated," Admiral Barnett cut in, and an appropriate consternation took hold of the audience if the gasping and whispering were any indication. Jim did not seem startled by this accusation in the least.

"Let me ask you something I think we all know the answer to- the test _itself_ is a cheat, isn't it? You programmed it to be unwinnable."

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario," I countered.

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios," he said resolutely, turning his face away.

Before I was able to identify what emotions this comment provoked in me, I had already formulated a supposition as to what it _would_ (my experience with logic and my inexperience with emotion is ever becoming clearer if in no other manner than the speed with which I process data); I expected to experience perhaps lingering astonishment or perhaps pity, however, rather than evoking either of these things, there was empathy, precisely as if conveyed in his conviction was the suffering he had overcome in his lifetime.

But why should I not experience pity? It is logical that I should, perhaps, but if I am to speak freely, to pity something so unique is a travesty in a sense; I would not undermine Jim's extraordinary and distinct quality- or _qualities_ (for I am beginning to believe there are others which I have not yet been made aware).

"You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death." There was a murmur in the audience, and something much more intolerable in Jim's eyes. I recognized immediately that I had misspoken, however relevant the comment may be.

"I of all people?"

"Your father... Lieutenant George T. Kirk assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action," I continued, the same as in the last entry, those personal details which should have remained private in an appalling display of hypocrisy (I had persecuted Jim for utilizing his knowledge regarding my program). He physically recoiled.

"I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test," Jim rejoined rather lamely after the crowd once more settled following the disturbance my last words had caused.

"That is highly illogical considering you failed to so much as divine the program's purpose."

"Its purpose?"

"The purpose is to experience fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and to maintain control of one's self and one's crew. This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain." A quality, no doubt, his father possessed. Perhaps Jim divined _this._ His eyes smouldered, yet he remained silent and still. I resented this, the way in which he seemed to relinquish, and moreover that I had been the cause of such a thing. There was no satisfaction in subduing Jim, in educating him even. At the time, however, I was fixated upon the fact that this did not seem to be congruent with the matter at hand: I was and am correct (Jim is too reckless); why should I feel dissatisfaction in finally imparting this to him?

It seemed at this point during the trial that between Jim's and my contending principles, I had in essence been the victor. For a time, however, I had experienced some uncertainty that this would be the case; I considered that perhaps this situation was not for me to succeed in making Jim aware of his foolhardiness, but rather for Jim to make me aware of my inability to act.

I have, quietly, become tired of being an exclusively reactive individual. Is this not the state I have been in? Is this not the root of my struggle: that I respond and never do I take initiative? I have also come to realize that it takes a great deal of courage to defy, to confront, to challenge another- particularly in the service of one's self. In fact, the only instance that I recall in which I acted in a self-motivated manner is in turning away from the opportunity I had with the Vulcan Science Academy.

This quality of mine very well may be borne of a- however subtle, _perceived- _self-deficiency, but that does not excuse it- this weakness that I loathe.

I am being to comprehend that Jim has been my conduit for this inability to act; he has been pushing me to defy him, to determine what it is that I desire, whether he is aware of this or not. But why Jim? Why has he taken interest in me? Why have I allowed him to play this role in my life? I now wonder if perhaps my resentment towards his direction is misplaced, and that is simply because I trust not only that our affiliation is enduring (that is, in spite of pushing him as I have, I never believed that I could not make reparations following) but that it is also upstanding. If I trust Jim to remain throughout the difficulties I face despite whatever action I take against him, then why should I not trust his intentions toward me? I must say that if this is indeed correct, and I have been wronging Jim, simply using him as a channel with which to exercise my own competence, then I have sorely blundered.

At the trial I came to the conclusion that I was struggling for control (more than just emotional control), but as of yet had not realized what this meant in terms of my surely unjustified conduct with Jim- indeed, it would take removing him from the _Enterprise- _marooning him on Delta Vega, to be precise-for that to occur, but this realization that I was lacking initiative- this enlightenment could have come no later as abruptly my attention was commandeered by events far more grave than the one at hand.

"Excuse me sir," a yeoman interrupted. I could hear his words to Admiral Barnett and therefore knew of the distress signal from Vulcan before the Admiral addressed us. I spared only one look in Jim's direction as I proceeded to Hanger One; McCoy was by his side, and they both observed me.

It was after collecting a data PADD from Commander Hanson and learning of my post aboard the _Enterprise_ (as first officer no less) and after assembling the cadets listed that I faced my first trial. I concluded announcing the roster when Nyota, among the cadets, approached me.

"Spock," she said, lifting her chin, "reassign me to the _Enterprise._"

I looked at Nyota over the PADD in my hand. "Pardon me?"

"Reassign me to the _Enterprise._" When it became clear to her no response from me would be acquired she continued, "I've thought about it long and hard, and I know I hurt you, Spock, and I understand that our romantic relationship has ended, but- but I'm your friend. If you'll forgive me, I promise I won't ever betray you again. Your friendship- it means so much to me. Let me be there for you."

I was quiet in considering this.

"...Please, Spock."

I hesitated, taking into consideration what truths I had accepted regarding courage and initiative- and at that moment the importance of being candid (particularly with myself) which I necessitate for optimal functioning. This took- and will take- more effort than I predicted, determining what I sincerely desire... Logic is vast, emotions are difficult to grasp, and I, therefore, am too often ambivalent.

There are several notable assessments I made at the time... I was set against socialization as a principle, and Nyota had, indeed, betrayed my trust; however, she was approaching me sincerely, and I knew with certainty that I missed my dear friend- though, Nyota is more than my friend, I considered: she is my family. I had identified her this way once, and it is not virtuous to revoke such a title (in fact, classifications such as this should never be easily amended; that thought alone placed my predicament into knew perspective). I reached a conclusion. I could forgive Nyota, easily, if I had not already done so. Whether I _should_ or not was extremely conflicted (when logically expressed), but, superseding this, I had a strong emotional sense of what I desired.

I glanced down at the PADD in my hand which had been lowered to my side.

"Will bridge crew suffice?"

Nyota's eyes were intense with emotion. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I am here for you from this moment on. I want you to know that."

I nodded, and we stepped around one another. I experienced a renewed sense of poise, that one burden at least was no longer to be carried. Indeed, my brief but overwhelming relief reaffirmed my decision to accept her.

Jim, in other regard, was suspended- which is why I was surprised to say the least when he arrived in a commotion on the _Enterprise _bridge once our course had been laid and we had duly departed the space dock. He then began a narrative regarding electrical storms and Romulans- a narrative which I was forced to admit concluded with a logical postulation (particularly with the addition of Nyota's supporting evidence). Soon he was proven to be correct.

We likely would have died if Jim had not warned us of the Romulans, and if Nyota had not approached me in the Hanger, if Lieutenant Sulu had not suffered incompetence, if Captain Pike had chosen not to hear what was being said to him.

Nevertheless, the destruction of the fleet in orbit around Vulcan was unspeakable, and it was amidst the fray we were hailed.

"Hello." It was indeed, a Romulan. 

Christopher stood. "I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking?" 

"Hi Christopher, I'm Nero." 

This informal tone, I could see, affected the rest of the crew. "You've declared war against the Federation." Christopher's tone was harsh. "Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location. 

"I do not speak for the Empire. We stand apart... As does your Vulcan crew member, isn't that right, Spock?" I suddenly experienced a sensation of Ice running through my veins. I stepped forward, my hands clasping behind my back. 

"Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted." 

"No, we're not. Not yet. Spock, there's something I would like you to see." More dread filled me at these words. "Captain Pike, your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice but to comply. You will man a shuttle, and come aboard the Narada for negotiations. That is all."

The viewscreen returned to forward bow.

"He'll kill you, you know that. We gain nothing by diplomacy," Jim said.

"I, too, agree. Your survival is unlikely. You should re-think your strategy," I said. The emotionless tone of my voice frustrated me. Christopher did not understand that he needed to live, and I could not seem to relate this to him... It was then that I came to recognize all that I had gained I was now losing. If there was ever to be a time for action, it had undoubtedly arrived.

"Spock, Kirk, you're with me," Christopher said. "Sulu, retrieve Lieutenant Olson. Meet us in the shuttle bay."

Jim and I followed Christopher into the turbolift.

"Captain, you can't honestly be thinking of going over there," Jim said.

"I don't have a choice-"

"What about your son?" Jim asked harshly. Both of us turned our attention to Jim.

"There are 900 lives on this ship, Jim, and if Ryan grows up to be anything like you, I'll be a proud father, as yours would be."

Jim was silent then, but he appeared to be in conflict.

"Here's the plan..." Christopher continued. I required a few moments to comprehend that he was placing mein command of the _Enterprise _(Jim as fist officer, in addition to this)_. _Perhaps it was foolish, but I claimed to have missed the subtlety of his joke. Even before Christopher could respond I had acknowledged this was the opportunity to take initiative I had been vying for, and I assured myself that I would not egress this time, though, I admit that I experienced fear- fear that I would not have the capacity to orchestrate the _Enterprise_, my planet, or any of the incidents standing between the two (I was not wrong to fear this).

"It's not a joke, Spock, and I'm not the Captain- you are. If I don't make it back, take care of Ryan." We were standing in the shuttle bay by then. He hit the button to the left of the lift doors, and he and Jim were gone to the bottom level.

I monitored Jim and the landing party as they fought to disable the drill and Christopher as he boarded the _Narada_, however, I could not maintain my vigilance. Lieutenant Checkov and I, based on the findings of the science department, determined the nature of the attack almost immediately after Jim informed us they had launched an unidentified object into the planet.

"Captain, they're creating a singularity, that will consume the planet," Checkov stated quietly. I had already reached this conclusion, but had not the valour to say it.

"How long does Vulcan have?" 

"Minutes, sir. Minutes." 

I sat rigid in my seat, fear paralyzing me for naught but a moment; the censure I made of myself came almost instantly.

_You will not sit passively like a pathetic child. You will act._

_What if there is not enough time? _

A most illogical concern. I would die planet-side along with the rest of my species if there was not.

"Alert Vulcan Command Centre to signal a planet-wide evacuation on all channels, all frequencies. Maintain standard orbit." 

I have never known time to move so slowly and quickly in tandem as it did following the moment I made the decision to retrieve my parents and the high council from the Katrik Ark. I veritably launched myself from the command chair and the in next instant the turbolift was shuttling me down the ship, and in the transporter room I met Jim for what I knew could very well be our last meeting. I took what little time there was to revel in his presence, pausing to observe his materializing form as I entered the coordinates of the caves into the transporter console. There was simply not the time required to address him properly. My eyes never met his as I ordered, "Clear the pad," stepping up past him, and I felt guilt for this. This was precisely as he had done to me years ago. I was risking my life despite whatever objections he might harbour. Though, in turn, I reminded myself I had no real obligations to him; furthermore, I did not know for certain that he would experience the same emotions as I in watching the other enter peril. There was a chance, I recognized, that I would never know the truth of his regard toward me.

Indeed, I knew only how he valued me months prior, that I had pushed him for the duration of our relationship and most severely in recent weeks, and if he did indeed feel quite the same about me as I do about him there was not yet any guaranteeing that being who _he_ is (reckless, impulsive, instinctual) he would not be capable of accepting my decision with a tolerant or empathetic attitude. That is, it would be hypocritical of him to expect me to accept such conduct of him but not to accept it himself should I choose to adopt his reckless behaviour. Although, I could not ever meet the terms of such an agreement: I will always be opposed to his hazardous deportment, and I will never compromise on this.

Perhaps I am more similar to Jim than I have ever cared to have noticed.

Jim blinked, stepping backward off the last step of the transporter to look up at me. "What, are you going to the _surface_? Are you nuts? Spock, you can't do that!" 

I could not look at him.

"Energize." 

"Spock!" he cried; his voice was piercing, his tone more desperate than I have ever heard it.

I must complete a meditative cycle.


	52. II, x

Now all your love is wasted, then who the hell was I?

I am uncertain what I can say to convey the depth of my despair.

I have never, nor will I ever again, witness anything as frightening as the collapse of my home planet. The surface broke, cracked and, crumbled, and the sections fell into canyons of infinite depth and darkness. It was the north-eastern quadrant of Vulcan where the red matter had been injected which collapsed first, and for what seemed like an immeasurable moment I saw inside of her. Then the rest fell, and upon those erupting continents I sensed _billions_ of Vulcans facing the fall into darkness, the same as my mother, with no means to escape, no where safe to stand, incapable of protecting their families, without even one direction to turn in which to shut out the destruction. Billions of telepathically capable lives... Their fear was a collective scream, a plea which rang across empty, silent space and throughout the halls of the _Enterprise- _for me alone. Then abruptly there was silence: the deepest silence I have ever known. It rang in my ears and in my mind. It felt as if the Vulcan half of me had been pulled down toward the singularity with the rest of my kind, hovering precariously on the event horizon. I became aware of myself staring at the place home had once been and searching for something remaining, but there was naught. It seemed an impossibility; I continued to search futilely.

Indeed, it seemed an impossibility, but I had known in some capacity what was about to occur. I knew in the moment I gave the _Enterprise _the signal to beam us aboard, and when I materialized, and my mother was not there. I realize it hd not occurred to me what I stood to lose if we did stop Nero when Lieutenant Checkov and I determined the purpose of the drilling array.

In the same moment turmoil came over me, I looked at Jim, awaiting my arrival in the transporter room, and he refused this gesture; he turned away. The pain I felt in realizing that I had pushed him too far, lost _him_ too, in risking my life as I had- this, in tandem with the pain I was currently experiencing, was overwhelming. Why, I asked myself, could he not simply look at me? It was unbearable; a very shallow and distant part of me raged at him for doing this now, for rejecting me.

Thoughts of Jim, however- I am surprised but not sorry to say (I worried for a time that nothing could exceed the magnitude of my experiences with Jim)- were surpassed in quantity by those concerning what was occurring presently; likewise, my emotional upheaval was only in small part due to those very thoughts of Jim. I made haste from the room in the next instant. The elders soon stood at my side, having followed after me at a languorous pace, to the portal in the hall, Jim hovering uselessly behind, as I witnessed it.

We stood in silence, and only I grieved.

"Control your emotions, Spock, so that they do not control you," an elder said quietly to me, emotionlessly, the same words that were once readily spoken to children on Vulcan_._ How many children were left?"Your duties await you."

I turned, clasping my hands behind my back, and reported to the bridge, Jim following without word. I could not bring myself to address him or otherwise acknowledge him. On the bridge I spoke my orders over the apologies and concerns of the crew, and I circled the bridge as I did this, vindicated with each step; I began to, in taking action, feel my focus re-calibrating, hardening such that my turmoil was no longer influencing my faculties. Nyota no sooner announced that based on the trajectory of the Narada, Nero was on course for Earth. Before delving in to the matter of our response to this threat, McCoy interrupted.

"How the hell did they do that, by the way? Where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry?" He looked to me. 

"The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer. Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time."

"Dammit man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" McCoy exclaimed. "Are you actually suggesting they're from the future?!" 

"If one eliminates the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true." 

Then Jim interrupted then. "What would an angry, future Romulan want with Captain Pike?" There was some speculation made by the senior officers on the bridge, however I contained myself within my own mind, standing still and statuesque. Jim spoke again then, opining that, "What we need to do is catch up to that ship. Disable it, take it over, and get Pike back." 

I tilted my head approximately sixteen degrees to the side. "We are technologically outmatched in every way. A rescue attempt would be illogical." 

"There's got to be some way," Jim insisted. 

I had reached a conclusion in my silence, as to the best course of action. "We must gather with the rest of Starfleet, to balance the terms of the next engagement."

"There won't be a next engagement: by the time we've gathered, it'll be too late." I had considered as much, and it was indeed a terrifying thought- the reason behind my rigid and unmoving posture, no doubt; however, this course of action portended a greater chance of success.

"You say he's from the future, knows what's going to happen, then the logical thing is to be unpredictable." Jim attempting to pit logic against me in another instance would have been humorous, most assuredly.

"You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold. To the contrary, Nero's very presence has altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the USS Kelvin, culminating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party. Mr. Sulu, plot a course to the Laurentian system."

"Spock, don't do that." At last, I turned to meet Jim's eyes. I am sure he saw the betrayal in my own. His- already hard- grew harder still. "Running back to the rest of the fleet for a confab is a massive waste of time-" 

"These are orders issued by Captain Pike-"

"He also ordered us to go back and get him. Spock, you're captain now! You have to be-" 

I experienced the sensation of a pulsing heat in my vascular system. "I am aware of my responsibilities-" 

"Every second we waste, Nero's getting closer to his next target." Jim, too, was becoming visibly upset. 

"That is correct and why I am instructing you to accept the fact that I alone-" 

"I will not allow us to go backward!" he shouted, and I nearly snarled, nearly informed him that he has made a habit of moving backward. To the contrary, I swallowed this rage, the asperity of his words, and the betrayal of his rejection.

"Security. Escort him out." 

For a moment, I believed he would comply. Then he began to pull away from the officers, and though I had firm control it felt to be simmering, nearly boiling now, again indicated by an astonishing heat in my vascular system which I could never have anticipated.

It was when Jim struck one of the struggling officers across the jaw and sent him sprawling to the cabin floor that I stepped up behind him, extending my hand and grasping his shoulder over his uniform. Jim stopped, his knees going weak, and he collapsed, unconscious.

It is, perhaps, shameful to say so, but in this moment, as acting Captain of the _Enterprise_, withholding my anger gave to me a sense of absolute control- more than I have ever known ever. It was not heat surging within me now, but power. I would not be humbled again. I would not yield to again. I would not allow myself to need anyone.

"Get him off this ship." I ordered.


	53. II, xi

Crumbling earth that you carried away

After marooning Jim, I sat in the command chair, and as I contemplated what I had done, I looked down.

There were the crematorial ashes of an entire civilization on the soles of my boots... This is what my life, my home, my history has been reduced to: dust and dirt upon my person.

What I did for Vulcan in the short time I had known it was no different; it is pathetic that now I deign to mourn a people and place I never truly appreciated. Indeed, it had not occurred to me that an entire planet, so vast and removed from the individual- not simply the Vulcan lives, the flora, and the fauna; but the oceans, the atmosphere, the climate, the arrangement of stars in the sky, all of it- could come to be so valued. And when? The moment they ceased to exist? ...It is nearly too appalling to stand.

It is the truth.

I imagine this is what Jim must feel at all times. It is as if every fiber of my being is vibrating with the force and the desire to undo this. It is unbearable. Inaction cannot exist in this state. I truly understand now what it is to be determined- what it is to utilize the power that is inherent in us.

It is inherent in me.

But perhaps I am not strong enough to wield such a power.

I have been considering my actions in marooning Jim as I did.

I feel that I have freed myself, vindicated myself from him. I have- whether he desires it or not, intended it or not- stepped onto the same pedestal as he; now I am beginning to comprehend what it means to be his match.

Indeed, I am no less than _any_one.

I am as angry as Nero, and I now understand what it is to utilize that anger in a fashion that is self-serving; I will use this knowledge- if it is the last thing I do- to kill him. _s_

He wished for me to know his pain, and I do.

Nero's most unfathomable mistake yet has been attempting to make me more similar him.


	54. II, xii

A weight in your heart that you carried alone

_Nero's most unfathomable mistake yet has been attempting to make me more like himself_; I selected the word attempting for a reason. Several entries ago I stated that in finally communicating to Jim the idiocy and, moreover, the futility of his impulsive recklessness there was no satisfaction; I also stated that I did not understand this surprising reaction (surprising since I knew myself to be correct in my evaluation: impetuousness is no virtue), but I do understand this now, following Jim's abandonment. Abandoning him, however, had little to do with coming to comprehend the absence of gratification- I maintain that I made the most prudent decision available to me at the time... Rather, I came to realize there has been no fulfillment in resisting those things such as valuing and caring for Jim because they have not in actuality been an exercise in self-control and self-assurance- that is, in personal growth.

Instead, I now believe that I have always been capable of this: maturity, self-assurance, initiative, leadership... but perhaps these things have been necessary to forge and to form me into this person that I find I have become. I am not proud that this is what has been necessary to accept that I am myself, not evil or malicious in any right (to accept that this quality is not a weakness), and therefore I am worthy of my own name at least.

Those I surrounded myself with- Jim, Nyota, my grandparents, the Pikes, my mother and father- they may have taken from me more than I desired to give (trust and therefore vulnerability) but hurting them in turn, I recognize now, will not in any situation or in any instance of time, provide satisfaction, much the same as it did not to disparage Jim's spontaneity at the trial. This is true for a simple reason, which I have mentioned above: I am myself, and I am without the desire to cause damage. It has been so since I was a child without companionship, after the anger diminished, and I was humbled; indeed, I experienced pain and isolation, and I would not inflict that upon another. This is my understanding of kindness, of compassion.

However, it seems idealizing those things which damaged me in the past has not taught me to protect myself or to approach situations with prudence and care; instead, it has taught me to isolate myself and mistrust others- I have had little, if any, compassion for myself. These precepts will be done away with if I am to survive Nero; I will embrace what remains of my life without resistance- resistance to failure, to those who wish me to be involved in their lives, to situations over which I lack control... I will not deprive myself any longer.

Thus, it becomes apparent that kindness, paradoxically, cannot exist in tandem with weakness; I believe, I have often disparaged and avoided it, being influenced by the misconception that to be humble, to be forgiving, to be generous (all of these embodiments of kindness) were symptoms and a precursor to weakness; it is more true, however, to say that these demeanors and acts take perhaps the greatest strength of all.

What fail to understand is how I am able to feel such deep loss and such encompassing hatred for Nero knowing the above and that I am of that.

He has hurt others without justified cause (there can_ be_ _no_ justified cause, in fact), and the magnitude of what he has done is beyond the scope of my comprehension.

Indeed, I loathe the thought of him so entirely that it is consuming me. This capacity of hatred is not meant for me, therefore, he must die quickly. I do not want to be burdened with hatred, but I must be its vehicle in the interim.

I have no other means to do this.


	55. II, xiii

I lost my mind when it mattered the most

After journaling my thoughts of the last entry, I proceeded to command as ever. There was a quietude to my demeanor, I am sure, as I forced the lengthy process of surfacing from heavy introspection. My overall emotional state was much the same: quiet and emotionless. It was a reprieve after what I had experienced.

Nyota continuously looked to me with concern marring her brow, but I could muster no response.

"Spock," she said in low undertones, approaching the command chair with her report in hand; the other bridge crew remained absorbed in their respective tasks, unaware of our exchange.

"I'm worried."

She did not specify as to what was causing her concern.

"Worry will hinder your performance. I require optimal functionality of the crew at this time- particularly of senior officers. If you cannot perform then I suggest that you find another to relieve you."

"Spock!" she cried in quiet indignation; she was clearly outraged, but her eyes remained predominantly concerned. "I'm worried about-"

Abruptly the turbolift doors opened, and a ruckus filled the bridge. Nyota, cut herself short, and I stood from the command chair, turning to face the party which had entered.

My eyes passed over the security officers, and over Jim's soaking form, and halted on a man I did not recognize, likewise dripping water on the floor. I could not bring myself to look closely at Jim; I was stunned, and unprepared to respond. While considering the situation I examined the man who did not belong and in a short moment asked, "Who are you?" 

"I'm with him." he gestured to Jim beside him, who was regarding me in a most curious manner.

"He's with me." Jim confirmed. I was forced to acknowledge him. With hands clasped behind my back, I turned my body to him first, then my eyes followed. For a moment we did no more than look at one another.

My voice was void of uncertainty when I spoke. "We are traveling at warp speed. How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?" 

"You're the genius, you figure it out," he said belligerently.

"As acting Captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question." I wondered that I shouldn't be angered by his impertinence, but my emotions remained out of reach.

"Well I'm not telling, _acting Captain_." I bristled subtly at this. "What? That doesn't frustrate you, does it? My lack of cooperation? That doesn't make you angry."

_Dispicable. _I refrained from making a deprecating expression at him and turned to face the other man. "Are you a member of Starfleet?"

The man was distracted. "I.. um.. yes. Can I get a towel, please?" 

I disregarded his outrageous question altogether, but this ridiculousness struck me almost as a physical blow would, and my anger increased appreciably. "Under penalty of court martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship moving at warp speed." Even as I spoke, my mind was cycling through a number of postulates, but this was futile: I knewit to be utterly impossible by current convention.

_A Romulan from an alternate dimension has destroyed Vulcan_, I reminded myself. Impossible_ is a word to be employed with reservation today._

"Well..." 

"Don't answer him," Jim cut in.

Another pulse of heat moved through my system. "You will answer me," I intoned formidably.

"I'd rather not take sides..." His lilting accent became more difficult to decipher in his distress.

"What is it with you, Spock? Hm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you're not even upset," Jim said. His words, I will not deny, cut directly through my thoughts, my mind reeling from the unanticipated and _unfair_ attack.

It took a moment to regain myself, my voice remarkably steady when I spoke. "...If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken." The words were forced through my lips, barely moving in my rage.

"And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command. I mean, did you see his ship? Did you see what he did?" Jim stepped toward me. 

"Yes, of course I did," I said. 

"So, _are you afraid or aren't you_?"

_I am nearly paralyzed with fear_. What would he have answered to this?

My heart was beating at an unwarranted pace, and the blood flow was interfering with my senses such that I could no longer concentrate my attention outward, only truly aware of the fear and anger that had gripped me. 

"I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion," I snapped at him. 

"Then why don't you stop me?" Jim again stepped closer, his words dipping into sensuous tones. There was something wanton in the way he approached me, but this is not what made me uncomfortable: it was that this approach in tandem with my own aggressive response seemed to make my actions appear carnal in nature when they were anything but. I wanted no part of this.

"Step away from me-" 

"What is it like not to feel anger, or heartbreak, or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?"

I knew all of these painful things.

"Back away from me-" I wished to plead with him, but I could not bring myself to. I understood he was about to undo me. This absolute vulnerability, exposure, and _violation-_ and with these witnesses- it was no more than merciless cruelty it seemed. 

"You feel _nothing,_ and it must not even compute for you!_ You _never_ loved her!_"

The pain was gone in an instant. He had not spared me even the dignity of mourning my mother in my own way. I saw myself as a youth once again, at the mercy of cold, miserable beings, but I was not powerless this time. I struck him. He tried to defend himself, but he was no match, and I struck him again and then again, twice in the face and once on the chest. I threw his defenses back and then pinned him hard to the navigation console, my hand wrapping tightly around his neck, the memory of his skin, his flesh, and his unyielding bone a satisfying sensory memory rippling across the tops of my knuckles.

_Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Spock._

These were Jim's thoughts invading my mind as my fingers dug deeper and deeper into his flesh, holding him secure.

_I can't believe I did that, _Jim thought in astonishment. _I can't even ask for forgiveness. What have I done?_

_And now Spock is about to kill me. So much for lovers, old-Spock. _

I am sure Jim heard little of my own mind, as there was nothing really to be heard between my overwhelming emotions and because he was not reaching for my mind.

Shock-wave after shock-wave crashed through my body with each of Jim's sentiments and the pool of images which accompanied them. I saw my alternate self, I saw the lie told of paradoxes to keep his presence secret, I saw a mind-meld, and an older Jim... I saw the trans-warp equation, the manipulation behind Jim's cruel words from moments before, and I felt his regret. He believed it was tearing through him mentally and emotionally.

Still I raged. There was no understanding on my part. There was no placation. Learning what I had in that moment, in fact, only fed my rage: he had not trusted me with the truth in any instance, in any capacity.

Jim had only hurt me, and I recognized this. He had hurt me deeply. I did and do not hate him or want to hurt him in turn, but this pain turned to anger, and I could not let go of him. It was my desire to demonstrate this to him.

Perhaps he did not understood what I had experienced.

"Spock!" Father demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts and emotions.

My eyes focused, and there were Jim's clear blue eyes looking up at me with both pain and regret, but this is not what halted me. It was, instead, that there was not a trace of accusation there, not disappointment, not reciprocated anger, or even frustration. Did he expect this of me or did he merely think it justified? Either prospect sickened me.

Slowly my shoulders lost their tension, and I relaxed my grip before my hand came away. Jim rolled onto his side and coughed and choked on the breath returned to him.

It was devastating to see this, most especially in addition to all that had recently occurred. I could not understand this loss of control, how I was functioning at all. I stared, but without truly seeing what was in front of me. I could no longer act as if in possession of my faculties. I could no longer maintain control of my emotions, myself, or the _Enterprise_.

"...I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command, based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log."

This has been the most difficult challenge I have faced. I have never had the capacity to own my shortcomings, my own inadequacy so completely. I was only able to do so now, in front of those whose opinions I value most, because I have finally grasped an understanding of who I am. Wether I am capable of hatred and anger or not I know that I am kind, that I am good- and minimally that I _desire_ to be so. I cannot fault myself for my intentions, but I can for the irrational actions I take; I know what mistakes I am accountable for.


	56. II, xiv

Messages relayed between the heart and the brain

I was considering my previous entry when the door retracted. I looked up to find Jim stepping into the mess hall where I had retreated. He reached out to activate the lock function on the door panel without fully turning away from me, and I felt my shoulders- and the rest my body- instantly grow tense in the aftermath of what had occurred, what I had learned.

He moved toward me, his face at first stoic, if not hard, seemed to break gradually as he approached.

"Spock," he said when he was standing before me; there was a muted anguish in Jim's eyes, but it did not quite move me; my own anguish has been too great.

"...I despise you," I said, emotionlessly. I do not know precisely why I said this as it was not my experience at the time- if it ever had been; it did not register with me until after leaving the bridge how remorseful Jim had been- even as I had a hand around his throat- but it had eventuallyregistered. His remorse made it difficult to begrudge him, even if I felt personally that the justification behind his actions was unwarranted.

Jim did not reply. He took a seat beside me on the ledge of the window, and I considered fleeing while he waited.

It likely seemed an odd admission (admission since my sense of ownership and guilt was quite evident in my voice) after my preceding remark, but I said next, "I could have easily killed you." I felt that this was a safe statement to make as it neither committed me to a discussion nor dismissed the opportunity for conversation. I was as of yet determining if I wished to participate in this meeting; I assume Jim was aware I would feel this way, and that is why he had activated the lock on the door- in addition, of course, to keeping distractions outside of the mess hall.

I had turned my head to follow his progress and continued to look at him when he sat beside me; he was now frowning.

"But you didn't kill me." His response only cemented the notion that I _nearly had_; he had not denied I was capable of it. I felt an overwhelming remorse at this juncture.

"I could have and nearly did kill you. That is what is important."

"No, it's not." Jim huffed; the conviction in his voice was passive, but this seemed to convey his certainty more than any amount of forcefulness could have. Still, his rebuttal was lacking. I thought for a short moment about what his underlaying argument might be, but I could not discern it.

"I do not understand."

"I wish you would just trust me; you're not going to like my explanation." I raised a brow at this, but the expression felt foreign on my face; I realized in this moment how emotionally drained I found myself to be, that emoting itself required taxing effort.

"I know you are _physically_ capable of killing me, Spock, but _you _aren't _actually _capable of doing it." He gestured toward my upper body (I believe to indicate either my chest or my head).

"Then you do not know me," I rejoined easily, which was an erroneous remark to make: his sentiment was an affirmation that he doescomprehend my character.

"No, I know you," he opined. "You're just underestimating yourself again."

Indeed, I knew this to be true of myself now, but Jim did not know that I had already come to this conclusion (consider that these are the very sentiments I have been journaling about- notions that I am kind in some integral way). It evoked a sudden rash of anger in me, for the crux of the matter was still that his actions were in some sense unjustified: I was- and _am_- not convinced of their necessity. There is not yet any guarantee Jim's strategy will outperform my own.

"Then what was the purpose?" I asked, my tone subdued but harsh.

Was gaining captaincy of the _Enterprise_ the only purpose of it?

Was there no other way for it to be done?

"Do you think me ignorant of my own emotions such that I require a third party to introduce me to them," I bit, "or were your actions self-serving?"

For all the pauses I had taken, Jim seemed to need none.

"I didn't do it with malicious intent if that's what you're getting at," he said forcefully.

"You are employing semantics as a means to secure your irreproachability."

"They're your semantics, Spock, not mine. You know I can't keep up with your logic; unless your going to be straight-up all I can say to you is that I could never _want_ to hurt you, and I know that my apology may mean nothing, but I am sorry."

Then silence overcame us for a time. I accepted his apology; though I did understand his motivations, I knew his remorse was genuine, and I believed his sincerity when he informed me that he could never want to hurt me. I accepted his apology, but I did not tell him this; my attention had quickly turned, once more, toward my own culpability in the matter. This was something which needed to be addressed.

"I apologize for damaging you."

"No- don't, Spock. And, about what I said, none of it was true, obviously." Jim's cheeks were reddening, and he hung his head. I could see even from this angle the bitter expression on his face.

"Indeed," I quietly agreed. "I loved my mother deeply."

"I know."

"I could not save her."

"You can't blame yourself. You _can't. _There was nothing more you could have done."

"I am aware of that, but I am still disappointed."

Jim nodded; I was relieved that he had accepted this admission from me, because it was the height of my truth, and not something to be argued or changed.

I was entirely unprepared for what followed then; indeed, even now I feel this unpreparedness.

Jim exhaled, his expression lightening as he leaned forward to look over at me. "You are absolutely perfect."

I could do no more than blink.

"Listen, Spock, I really don't know what the hell this is between us. I am confused as shit." My mind immediately jumped to the image I had of the alternate Spock and Jim who were lovers in their time and place; Jim knew precisely what was between us, and I did as well. I supposed that it was only a matter of whether we wanted the same. "...And I really have to get back to the bridge. We're going after Nero; I know that's not what you want, but I'm asking you to trust me. If you can, then be by my side, and if you can't, I understand-" Jim grinned- "I'll still think your perfect, though."

I watched him stand and walk to the door, immobilized by the tumultuous sensation in my stomach remarkably akin to horror- albeit, a horror to be anticipated.

"And whatever else happens, after this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk- possibly a mind-meld."


	57. II, xv

I'll try to hold you

After Jim left I ruminated for a few moments on stellar evolution with the intention of calming myself- a successful effort.

I drew many parallels between the relationship of main sequence stars in a binary system and the relationship between Jim and I. The matured star, a red giant, expands and collapses in a repetitious sequence, losing more of itself with each succession: at the end of this cycle, it has been stripped to its stellar core- which can be likened to the process of my coming to know myself; now a white dwarf, it accretes matter from its binary companion- Jim, in this case, and his emotional bombardment; eventually the Chandrasekhar Limit of 1.4 solar masses is surpassed and electron degeneracy pressure is no longer enough to support the white dwarf resulting in collapse and thermal runaway fusion followed by Type 1-A supernova- this would be the incident on the bridge. Consumption would not be the catalyst to supernova in this case, nor would it result in the ejection of the companion star from the system... I believe. It remains to be seen. I then considered the vast difference in time-frames. It has taken me a long time to have come to know anything at all, and I have caused a great deal of pain and strife in my ignorance.

I longed briefly to speak with mother; her voice at that moment would have been of inimitable comfort to me had we been discussing Jim's unfathomable regard for me or her latest excursion to the market- it would make no difference.

My head, I noticed, had begun to ache, and that is why I went to sickbay. I was, perhaps, not prepared for the sight of so many grievous injuries and crewmen filling this wing of the ship, or the damage to the _Enterprise_ herself which was more devastating now that we were no longer directly under attack. The medcial personal were all engaged in rigorous treament, and I skirted their work stations to remain unimpeding as I approached a storage unit with readied hyposprays. I began to rifle carefully through the diminished stores when I was interrupted.

"Last I checked you weren't a medical officer."

I glanced at McCoy who was performing a procedure on a patient laying unconscious at the nearest bio-bed.

"You are correct, Doctor, I am not; however, as you and the rest of the medical crew were otherwise engaged, I thought it best to administer the hypospray myself." I had, by this time, located and readied the device and was holding it to my neck. The medication was injected with a audible decompression.

"Hypospray for what?" McCoy asked, his eyes narrowing as he placed a dermal regenerator in Nurse Chapel's hand and then came to stand before me.

I handed it off to McCoy. "A mild analgesic. I do not have time to meditate, and this developing headache will hinder me."

"In here, Spock." McCoy had made a face and moved to stand in the door of the Chief Medical Officer's personal office- which was Doctor McCoy's now, though I doubted he had accepted or adjusted to the status quo as of yet.

"Do you think this is a good idea, Spock?" he asked, his aggressive tone becoming more acute.

"To what do you refer, Doctor?" I cocked my head marginally to the left.

"You know damn well what! I was on the bridge when Jim debriefed everyone, Spock, and I know when he went running out of there immediately afterward it wasn't because he badly had to take a piss. Whatever Jim said to you about going after Nero, you're still emotionally compromised. Do you think it's a good idea to be in a- _stressful-_ situation right now?"

"Nero killed my mother, Doctor McCoy."

He quieted, looking at me with regret: "That's my point," he said, his voice no longer angry.

I took a breath, wondering precisely what needed to be said to assuage the Doctor, or if I need assuage him at all. He was visibly flustered, his clothing stained in various places from the casualties resulted in the attack, and his brow glistened with light perspiration; his eyes were red, bespeaking of his fatigue, and his noticeably diminished hostility, too, was indicative of this. Had the situation not been dire I would have considered intervening in his continuing duties.

"I will perform commendably because Jim needs me to."

I could see the admission in McCoy's demeanor, though he addressed me then with a non-sequitor- likely without much thought.

"Oh, so you did kiss and make-up, did you?" he asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Yes," I said, raising my brows; I had recognized his use of the expression and responded accordingly, but McCoy was apparently disbelieving that I had any concept of jargonistic language whatsoever.

"Not literally? ...Or actually literally?" McCoy looked stunned and confused, and I simply looked at him with what I knew to be a perfectly empty expression. After a moment, I turned and exited the office. McCoy, I heard follow a moment later.

"You better not hurt him," he called to me across the frenzied sickbay.

"I have no intention of doing so, Doctor."

The veracity and the implications of that impromptu response struck me shortly thereafter.

It is unfortunate that Jim is still unclear- and providential that I no longer am.

A/N:  
_Electron degeneracy pressure_- the _Chandrasekhar Limit_ of 1.38 solar masses- basically describes the point at which the mass, and therefore the gravity of a body, is greater than the forces supporting the atom, so they have to occupy less space by fusing into heavier elements. _Nuclear runaway fusion_ is basically when the Chandrasekhar Limit is reached and there is a huge cascade of reactions as atoms fuse. _Consumption_ would be if, instead of simply accreting material, the companion stars actually merge!


	58. II, xvi

Taken on a mission of faith

Jim had called me perfect. These words meant more to me than any other declaration of affection he could have made; they were very much Jim's words, his sentiments. Knowing him allowed me to perceive precisely what was meant by them, where I believe their meaning easily could have escaped another: he meant to tell me he loves me (though it is against every sense of social grace I possess to say this, there can be no justification _not _to: I am not mistaken; I know it to be true).

I was, indeed, stunned to hear the words; however, I was not stunned at the sentiment itself, nor could it be said that I did not wish to hear them. Rather, I was unprepared for the emotional _movement_ it engendered in me. It came in tandem with this sense that I entirely reciprocate and return the sentiment: I love Jim. It was not fear of rejection or my own self-disapproval or even those things Jim had done to deter me (though, perhaps at one time those things were truths) that made me resistant to it- rather, it was the encompassing nature of it, and a justified fear of losing the essence of my character and of my independence. That is, this feeling seemed to escape the confines of my expectations, of my _capacity_ for emotion, and in an alarming way.

There was a keen tension in me as I boarded the turbo lift en route to the bridge. I wondered how much he would be able to discern from my disposition and how much he would conclude from my participation in his mission. Until we had a moment in privacy what his thoughts were would be little more than speculation to me; I hardly had patience to wait for the talk he had mentioned. I wanted to know his mind at that moment, and I was prepared for him to know my mind, as well.

Jim was standing in front of the command chair, his back to the view screen; his arms were crossed, and one hand was fisted around his chin in thought. The entirety of the bridge crew were giving him their attention, Lieutenant Sulu proposing a plan of action to the deputation. Jim looked over when the doors retracted and his face veritably lit up; his smile was ingenuous and disarming such that I found myself blinking in surprise. The crew, however, carried on as if this had not occurred (perhaps they had missed it), though, Nyota, sitting to my left at the communications array, stood and laid a supportive hand on my shoulder and offered me a sympathetic expression. I inclined my head in acknowledgment, and she returned to her post.

My eyes remained fixed on Jim after that. He seemed to be distracted by it, his eyes traveling from Lieutenant Sulu to me and back.

He looked at me once more and then frowned slightly. I raised a brow. He shook his head nearly imperceptibly, and when the Lieutenant grew quiet Jim straightened and said, "Whatever the case, we need to get aboard Nero's ship undetected."

It was clear he did not hear what Lieutenant Sulu had said, and I considered summarizing the points for him. Nyota spoke beside me before I had the chance. "You can't just beam aboard the Narada, Captain."

"Oh, I know!" Checkov interrupted, sitting up straighter at his station. "If Nero takes a direct route from Wulcan, he will pass Saturn. As you said, we need to stay inwisible to Nero or he'll destroy us. If Mister Scott can get us to warp factor four, and if we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn's moons, say Titan, the magnetic distortion from the planet's rings will make us inwisible to Nero's sensors. From there, as long as the drill is not actiwated we can beam aboard the enemy ship."

"Aye, that may work," nodded, his brows raised as if surprised by the Lieutenant's ingenuity, but there was still a sense of uncertainty in his demeanor and among those of the other officers.

"Mister Chekov is correct," I interjected. "I can confirm his telemetry. If Mister Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero's ship, steal back the black hole device, and, if possible, bring back Captain Pike."

Jim stiffened and dismissed me- without thought- if the swiftness of his response was any indication. "I can't allow you to do that, Spock."

I lifted a brow. "Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ship's computer to the end of locating and seizing the device," I said. This logic was without flaw, and I knew Jim could not deny it. I watched him debate with himself for a moment; reluctantly, he agreed.

"I'm coming with you."

Indeed, I should have recognized sooner that this was the only real outcome.

"...I would cite regulation, but I know you will simply ignore it," I said, suddenly overtaken by what was likely the exact same impulse to prevent Jim from involving himself. He merely grinned at me.

After detailing the agenda with the bridge crew, Jim, the newcomer- Montgomery Scott- and I entered the turbolift to make our way to the transporter room. Jim made a ship-wide announcement, debriefing the crew of our mission on the way. Then he and I were preparing ourselves with any necessary equipment (all weaponry) we were likely to need in the the following conflict.

Sulu's voice came over the comm. "Sir, we are in position above Titan."

Mr. Scott answered before either of us, and I concluded it was likely his impertinence that had seen him assigned the Delta Vega outpost. "Really? Fine job, Mister Sulu. Well done."

"Status, Scotty?" Jim asked as he preceded me onto the transporter pad.

"Unbelievably, the ship is in position," he confirmed, no doubt accessing the ships vector system from the transporter station where his eyes remained even as he addressed us, "and I'm set to beam ya' aboard."

Jim turned to look at me. "Whatever happens, Mister Sulu, if you think you have the tactical advantage, you fire on that ship, even if we're still onboard. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Sulu responded.

"Otherwise, we'll contact the _Enterprise_ when we're ready to beam back."

"Good luck, Sir."

"Ready, Spock?" Jim grinned, drawing his phaser as I had.

I raised a brow in response.

"Okey-dokey, then," Mr. Scott interrupted. "If there's any common sense in the design of the enemy ship, I should be putting you somewhere in the cargo bay. There shouldn't be a soul in sight."

"Sounds good." Jim nodded as if to finalize our mission one last time.

"Energize."


	59. II, xvii

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall

I am weary of what I may say here, just as I was weary of what I might experience emotionally when Jim and I materialized aboard the _Narada._

Anxiety was the first- and, for a time, _only_- emotion that registered during our mission. It was not for the phaser fire, for Earth, or for Jim, as unseemly as that admission is. I was apprehensive that I would lose myself in the hatred that was near to exceeding my control (which is, in fact, a fear I have known before. A similar danger had existed when I was compromised on the bridge, but, in this instant, the decision to take life duly crippled my outlook.

I am, even now, stuck by what darkness there is in me.

It is true, though, that I have long thought my potential for both good and bad- the ability to decide what I am to be (keener than a full human or Vulcan, no doubt) has been perhaps my only certain superiority. No matter the circumstance and no matter the criticisms I make of myself, I have never truly believed that I am without, minimally, potential. There has always been a capacity for greatness in me, to do what is necessary: to kill without remorse, to kill myself, or to live and to let live. And I have been aware of this potential. I have always known that emotions are a tool, as is logic. It is difficult, in this sense, not to value the self-awareness and self-control- and even the social maladjustment- that has often isolated me. I believe others are not faced with this necessity to evaluate and consciously dictate their constitution; there is in them a certain degree of intuition which I believe I have never known. Understanding themselves the way I have had to come to understand myself was not required of them (Indeed, I have _constructed_ myself, and understanding is a natural consequence- and prerequisite- of that process).

I could in that moment, as I ducked after Jim, either embrace the hatred I was studiously denying and release my anger, or I could continue denying my emotional needs and do what was logical to survive.

Yet, as I reflect on the uncertainty I experienced in committing to either above avenue, my self-depreciation is renewed: despite what I have claimed about my potential, I am forced to admit that I know not whether to consider my lack of natural identity an unlikely superiority or a disability for all the difficulty it has caused me in turn… It is a burden to be conscious of each step I take, and it is tiresome to be forever mindful of my every thought and feeling. I consider that every devaluation I have of made myself over the years (be it in the name of improvement or otherwise) is like a wound upon my person, and I was injured from this effort I had put into my being.

The notion of giving all of this in the pursuit of Nero was tantalizing, to consider something- indeed, anything at all- greater than myself.

Then the repulsion stirs in me.

I am naturally self-centered, as are all humans and most especially Vulcans. If I were not devoted to myself, there would be no one to have carried me forward unto this moment, to have served me without fail, in this manner. How could I, either by logic or emotion, turn away from the one thing I have done intuitively: serve myself.

To be distanced from my wrath, to _not _kill- these two things I logically knew were necessary to survive, but the loathing was so expansive I experienced parethesia my body over; it was superseded only by a hunger for destruction on every possible scale as the renewed pain of my losses burgeoned in me with each moment. It became apparent that I would _not_ be able to do what was necessary (and, ironically, while my concern for Jim was lost in this raging state, it had been the sight of phaser fire upon his person- or at least directed at his person- which triggered it, this renewed wrath).

I teetered on the edge of my own undoing.

The phaser fire grew less, and soon I knew it to be time to alter position. I moved to assess the scene, and his voice from behind shattered my stagnating intention as if my mother had appeared before me.

"Spock!"

I looked at Jim. He was not facing me, unable to do so at the time; he did, however, grin, knowing I had turned to him.

"I'll cover you," he said.

I stared, resisting him. I could yet proceed yet: I could forge ahead without him. I could also cease and submit to reconciling our efforts. And was this not the heart of our relationship, I wondered. I could be with him- at the cost of what? Indeed, what did I stand to lose?

"Are you certain?" I petitioned him. Jim seemed to sense the duality of the conversation; he spared me a serious look.

"Yeah, I am," he said, turning away once more. "I've got you."

I hesitated for a moment.

Jim ceased firing altogether then, turning to me with fear in his eyes; they were wild. His hand reached out and gripped my own, and I could not pull away.

_Stay with me._ The will of his emotions came in tandem with the strength of his thought, and it was enough to, in a sense, force me from the space I had been in. Some distant part of Jim's mind was raging that it was too late for me to withdraw now; I had devoted my efforts to _him, _to this mission; I did not have a right to betray him like this. Another still was empathetic...

I questioned myself more urgently now: _What do I stand to lose?_

Jim withdrew his hand to cover his head, ducking low when a Romulan shot from an unexpected angle nearly made target. I quickly raised my phaser and disposed of the enemy. Then Jim and I were making our way to one of the fallen Romulans. I reached out a hand to splay over his pallid face, and then allowed my awareness to move outward, consuming the remnants of thought within the dying man's mind. It took little time to assimilate the visual cues I was searching for. I saw both Christopher and the ship- _my ship_- from the future.

"Do you know where it is- the black hole device?" Jim asked urgently when I retracted my hand. His voice was low, the cabin quiet. Though it had not taken me long to extract the information, Jim had dispatched the last of our enemies, and was now squatting next to me, his eyes constantly moving, searching for threats.

"And Captain Pike." I nodded, getting to my feet. Jim followed my lead. I withdrew my phaser from its holster where I had placed it, and we worked our way across the scaffolds, and I described the route he would take to reach Christopher until we came to the Romulan shuttle bay; here the ship was stored. It took me a moment to release the the door, and then Jim and I stepped inside.

"There it is," Jim said, stepping up to the rail and looking down at the launch pad; he did not wait for me, turning and making way to a ladder on our right. I fell into step after him, and was therefore surprised when, as we approached the ship, suddenly Jim stopped and turned to me with another sweeping glance of the bay.

"Spock, I get it," he said, his eyes finally coming to meet mine.

"Pardon me?" I blinked once, otherwise growing still.

"I'm like you. That's why I know you were thinking about losing your shit back there. Only people who are pushed far enough-" Jim cut himself short with an irritated expulsion of breath. "Look, we don't have time to talk about this right now. I said we would talk later- _we_ _will_- but this is your last reminder: you're committed to all this now, and if you pull anything I will _personally_ deal with you." He left the threat open-ended, enunciating his words with gestures of his phaser and did not wait for a response, turning and striding toward the ship when he had finished.

It seemed that the choice was no longer mine to make. I thought that perhaps Jim was correct in his assessment that he is very much the same as I. It would explain his uncanny insight into my character; it would explain his ability to predict my shortcomings, as he had once again just done. It followed that I would be moved by his demonstration, but _moved_ is an inadequate term.

Also, I was surprised to feel an involuntary- and certainly inappropriate- smile straining my controlled facial expression.

In this moment I thought that the purpose of control, the purpose of struggle, the reason for me to do what is necessary to continue has been shown to me by Jim; he has consistently reminded me to value myself, and I have finally recognized this for what it is.

I am unable to define the parameters of such an event; the very fact that I held this design opposite my desire for vengeance is indicative of the magnitude of it- it may be boundless, or at the very least, beyond the scope of my sense.

I have, in the past, expressed a concern that he could be the loss of my sense of autonomy- to phrase it differently, that I might be, wrongfully, inclined to live my life _for_ him- however, now that I am here, that he is within my reach, I no longer believe this to be a danger. Jim is, certainly, incentive; however, I will not, nor would I ever live my life _for_ him: I will continue to live for myself, as I alway have. Though, in the future, I will be able to say that I am living my life because he has, in essence, assuaged my insecurities about the world and the lack of peace I have found in it.

If our intentions were ever unwholesome, however, it is clear to me now that even an insalubrious foundation could not undermine the valueof our relationship. I wonder that it is even possible to have such a strong bond that it may precede understanding, as it has.

Then, thinking back on his words in ten-forward, the anger and then the bemusement were gone. I felt engrossed by Jim, which was manifest in a sense of calm.

It followed that I found myself boarding the spacecraft after him, examining my surroundings with a precursory glance. Jim was bent at the waste, scrutinizing the black hole device with a slight frown.

I allowed myself a brief moment to observe him before commenting, "This ship is far more advanced than I anticipated."

Jim was interrupted before he could speak, his mouth ajar.

"_Voice and face recognition enabled._"

Jim straightened where he stood.

"_Welcome aboard Ambassador Spock._"

It did not surprise me when the computer acknowledged me. I had seen this ship in Jim's mind and in the Romulan's; Jim, however, did not seem to realize this. "That's weird," he said in a forcefully nonchalant tone of voice. He had paced down the hallway to the command console, and I followed after him.

"Jim, I know that you have been keeping valuable information from me."

"You'll be able to fly this thing, right?" he replied with a rather blatant non-sequitor.

"In a sense, I have already."

Jim delivered me a quizzical look, but, again, he did not acknowledge my sentiment.

"Be careful." He turned to leave.

"Jim, I have calculated the statistical likelihood of our succeeding to be less than four-point-three percent."

"It'll work," he said, turning back to me briefly.

"In the event that I do not return-"

"Spock, _it'll work_," he enunciated.

"-_I am sorry,_ for taking as long to realize..." Words no longer seemed adequate. His eyes were piercing, the lighting aboard the ship only accentuating the aqueous quality of them that had mesmerized me for many years; in a brief moment of nervousness-cum-absurdity I wondered if my alternate self had not requested these lights, this ship for the very purpose of viewing Jim's eyes to their best advantage, _this _advantage.

I stepped toward him, deciding that if I could not make him verbally aware of my stance, I would do so by other means- a means surprisingly less unnerving than saying what I desired to say, but unnerving nevertheless. Indeed, I was drawn to him, and it was _only _his eyes which made it difficult to approach as they seemed to cut through my uncertainty to perceive something I had, myself, not yet grasped.

I moved forward before I had time to reconsider my actions, however. Then- all too suddenly- I had leaned in, and taken his lips with my own.

_You are perfect, as well._

In the first instant Jim's thoughts ceased, and it was as if there was not a telepathic connection between us- only the very human experience of my mouth upon his.

Before I heard his thoughts, I felt his lips turn up beneath mine. In my relief my eyes closed, and I lifted my hand to his cheek, my other hand briefly making contact with his own. My fingertips brushing against his sent a shock through his system.

_I love you, too._ Jim was joyously laughing in his own mind, and his sudden exultation was like a second movement come to overthrow me- revolting, in a manner, against the darkness I had been embodying moments ago.

_Dear god, I love you,_ he thought, and his hands came up to grasp either side of my face, as well, as if in prayer_._ His reverence made me experience what can only be described as _debasement_.

"You better come back whole, Spock," he said when we came apart not a moment later.

"And you, Jim."

He grinned. "You're never getting rid of me."

Then he was stepping away toward the hatch, and I toward the command chair. Too quickly Jim was gone, and then the loading ramp began to retract; soon after I launched the ship.


End file.
